


I Could Be the One

by LieutenantLiv



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, First Time, Kingsman is the Royal Ballet School in London, M/M, Mutual Pining, Royal Ballet AU, Slow Burn, Street Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantLiv/pseuds/LieutenantLiv
Summary: Eggsy is just trying to make some money street dancing with his mates, when one day some posh bloke in a suit rocks up and offers him an audition at the Royal Fucking Ballet School. What's that all about?After much pining and one-to-one ballet lessons, filled with sexual tension... well. Something's got to give.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This fic is finished, all but one chapter- so it's safe to read. There will be an epilogue if people want it!
> 
> This au was of course inspired a little by Step Up. But actually the idea came to me when I was listening to my workout playlist, thinking about how Channing Tatum was going to be in the new film. And I was like.. wow, what if Eggsy could dance? And it all went from there.
> 
> If you haven't listened to the song which this fic is named after, it's Avicii and it's pretty epic. You should listen to it before chapter 8 ;) 
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry Hart was quietly enjoying his salad in the Lincoln’s Inn Fields gardens. The grey sky didn’t keep him from having his lunch outside. Nowadays, no one recognised him anyway.

Thirty years ago, he had been a dancing phenomenon. Even people who didn’t give the slightest fuck about ballet recognised his face- it would appear in the culture section of the weekend newspaper, once even in Vogue. Part of him told himself that it was a more peaceful life, the one he led now. Most of him was itching for more. 

Now he was a retired dancer, but still eating the healthy diet of a performer. God, he fucking hated salad. But he was desperate to hold onto the body that had seen him through a decade of dancing for the Royal Ballet. He had been to Russia, America, Denmark, France, Australia- he had been the face of London’s very own Royal Ballet. And now he was anonymously eating a Prét Á Manger salad in Holborn. 

Practice sessions never brought back the adrenaline he would feel when the lights came down on him, when the faces of the audience would disappear and all he was left with was his own body, even his thoughts pushed aside, his muscles trained so well that they would move through pure memory and instinct, the buzzing fear and joy coursing through his veins. He couldn’t have that back. A lot of the time, he didn’t want it back. He only wanted to see someone else experience that feeling. Something more than eating a Prét Á Manger lunch on a park bench. 

His colleague, Arthur, had asked them all to find new talent. As Artistic Director, he’d eventually whittle the recruits down to the final few that would make the next performance. Naturally, Merlin and the other teachers at the Royal Ballet School had chosen some of the School’s students. But God, did Harry fucking hate Arthur King. He hated how stale the ballet had become- all because the board always got what they wanted. As much as Arthur would argue that young people just didn’t seem to care about the artistic talent of dance anymore, Harry and Merlin quietly mused that, actually, much of the problem might be with the School’s refusal to adapt to the times. Their audiences were changing. And they were still doing Swan Lake. For the hundredth fucking time. 

Not that Harry didn’t appreciate traditional art forms- no. Rather a wilful reluctance to try anything new. Fear of change, fear of anything different. That was why Arthur King was bad for British ballet. 

It was about time that he returned to the School in Covent Garden and let Arthur know that he hadn’t chosen a candidate, for the fifth year running. Because every fucker in the Royal Ballet School was elitist, white, from a prestigious family or school. He wasn’t all that interested in talent hunting amongst the homogenous mass of privileged children that frequented the School. His colleague and long time friend, Merlin, had always felt the same way. It had taken every ounce of effort and multiple sacrifices for him to make it to the Royal Ballet. Merlin was Glasgow born and bred, and nowhere near the family of ballet prodigies that had been members of the Royal Ballet for generations, like Harry’s. Merlin was there on pure talent alone.

He would never forget the day he met his friend at the Royal School of Ballet entrance exam. He had had hair then, a concept that made Harry smile at his depressing salad and plastic spork. He’d never lost that acerbic wit, though, shooting sharp retorts at the men who would stare at him unbelieving for his, at the time, thick Glasgow accent. Merlin was the only man Harry knew who could frighten someone in a pair of ballet tights.

He had hated Harry at first, of course, much to Harry’s amusement, since he himself actually been quite fond of him almost instantly. They went through Ballet School together, shared many performances together. Even when Harry had become the star, Merlin had offered unwavering support. 

As Harry mused on the park bench, hree young men breezed past him, causing his thoughts to dissipate. Two tall and gangly, surrounding a smaller, fierce looking one, accompanied by hip-hop music. The smaller man in the middle, jaw set tight, the cocky swagger of a man who was pretending, set down the small pair of speakers on the bench opposite him. He rolled his head, stretched his arms, eyes glinting. And then he began to dance.

The way the boy moved.

He must have been no more than twenty-five. Harry could see through his t-shirt that he was slim, strong. He was languid but controlled. A perfect understanding of the rhythm of the song, he was clearly athletic, verging on gymnastic as he fell into breakdancing. And yet he brought a controlled slowness to his performance in places that showed his strength, and, to the untrained on-looker, seemed to defy gravity as he lifted and spun his body is thoughtful, measured movements. There was more passion and skill in those few moments of this stranger’s dance than Harry had seen in any student of the Royal Ballet that year. 

His friends were sitting on the bench with the speakers, drawing in passers by and accepting small change. The boy would occasionally smirk mischievously, causing gaggles of women to either laugh coyly or roll their eyes. Now a small crowd had appeared, cheering and bobbing to the music as the dancer moved like his body were boneless. No, that wasn’t quite right- he had expert control, his limbs sliding languidly but mechanically. There was something ecstatic in the way he danced, but every move suggested he was holding something back, some deeper emotion that dared to break the certainty and control of his dance. 

Harry watched from his bench, unmoving. He crossed his legs, leaning back, blending well into the Holborn environment in his suit and tie. Meanwhile the dancer continued to move confidently. 

He would need work. He would need to learn the basics. He needed to develop more control for whatever he was trying to hold back. But Harry knew raw talent when he saw it, and he felt more emotion coming from the boy’s pinky fucking finger than he had gathered from Arthur’s candidate, Charlie. 

He couldn’t believe he was considering this. 

Except he could. He knew this was as much to get back at Arthur than it was that this stranger appeared to be talented. 

Just as he was about to get up and join the crowd, get a closer look at the minute movements of the dancer’s composition, two policemen approached carefully, and the three boys burst into a sprint. Harry stood up abruptly as if to join them, and watched the three of them split up. His eyes trained on the dancer, who effortlessly ran up the wall of the garden and along the top of it, practically taunting the officers who were running parallel to him on the ground, looking up and shouting at him desperately to come down. One hop to the roof of a building and a light-footed flip- out of sight. Harry recognised the moves as parkour, the police trying to find a close exit to pursue him.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would talk to the boy. And so possibly end his own career. He could be terrible. He probably knew no ballet. But he was bored, and this could be interesting. 

 

Coming back to Holborn might not have been the best plan, Eggsy had to admit. Ryan seemed a little on edge, for sure.

“You’re out o’ your mind, bruv,” he said, walking beside Eggsy to the bench they’d set up at yesterday. They breezed past a posh looking suited man on the opposite bench, peering at them through square glasses, over a copy of The Guardian. Eggsy had noticed him watching his dance yesterday, too.

“We need the money,” he replied. “An’ the people here are fuckin’ rollin’ in it. Wanker bankers taking lunch breaks. Just give me ten minutes and we’ll have somethin’, yeh?”

Jamal laughed at Ryan, who was pointing emphatically at his watch. “Ten fucking minutes. And counting.”

Eggsy grinned, shrugging. “Don’t see the problem, anyway. We got out of there pretty sharpish.”

And so Jamal turned on the music on Eggsy’s phone, the shitty speakers from Argos doing their best to sound the bass of the song. It didn’t change the way his body responded, the way his limbs stretched, flowed, locked, sent his body into a wave that made people clap and cheer. If his mum knew he was here, trying to make a few quid for their dinner. God, how ashamed she’d be. How much they fucking needed that extra little bit of money so Daisy could eat something proper. Everything they had was being sucked into drugs by his step-dad Dean, even though the man was supposed to be out of their fucking life by now. This little bit of cash? This was the difference between a cooked dinner and another meal of plan toast. All that training he’d gone through in the Marines, all the lessons he’d tried so hard to pay attention to at school didn’t do shit. All Eggsy had was this ability to dance. Dancing was skill that could bring in money, and having a pretty face on top of that was useful- whether he liked where it was taking him or not. 

Not that he’d ever tell anyone that. Not like he’d break his mum’s heart like that. It was hard enough that she couldn’t work while she was looking after Daisy. 

All of this would go through Eggsy’s mind when he danced- it was what drove him, it was what kept him coming to Holborn despite the police on his tail. What they were chasing him for this time, he wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe it was Dean’s car. Maybe it was the six pack of beans he’d nicked yesterday. Either way, he had to keep dancing- not only for the sake of making a few quid, but to keep his sanity, too. 

Dancing like he was now- he could express himself in ways that school had never taught him. Words didn’t always come easily, but dance moves did, and there was a joy that he felt in the power of his movements, in his muscles stopping and starting him, even in the people watching him, that soothed the desperation that would bring him to Holborn in the first place. He knew that if he let that frustration show, he wouldn’t be dancing like this, like he had no cares in the world. So he clung onto that façade, the swagger that made women giggle as he winked at them and moved his hips. 

Some days he wished he could have been good at something like French instead. Fucked off to another country and taken mum and Daisy with him. Or maybe he could have been a maths genius and become a banker like these tossers. But instead God gave him dancing, so here he was. And at night, he’d move for a very different crowd. But it were moments like these, when his friends were cheering him on and he could see the pound coins pile up that he felt it was worth it- if not for the buzzing feeling that coursed throughout his body.

And then Eggsy noticed the suited man join the crowd, and he danced as he usually did, throwing the man a cheeky smirk that he knew made people like him, trust him. The man only raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He moved till the song ended, and the man approached him, hands clasped behind his back. Eggsy’s gaze followed up and down his body. Nice suit, that, if he ever knew what that looked like. Posh shoes. 

“You dance well.”

His head was tilted to its side, and he was surveying Eggsy too, dark eyes scanning him. Eggsy was used to being stared at. He was a performer. But these eyes were calculating and he suddenly felt inadequate in his Primark t-shirt and jeans. 

“Cheers. If you want to make a donation, then-”

“Of sorts,” the man interrupted. He extended a hand. Eggsy wiped his sweaty palm on his shirt and shook it hesitantly. “My name is Harry Hart. I’m the principal at the Royal School of Ballet.”

Eggsy’s mind froze before he could translate what that meant. Jamal said, “ _Fuck_ ” in surprise. Eggsy’s hand remained clasping Harry’s as he registered.

“Eggsy. Eggsy Unwin,” he managed, fight or flight instinct tensing his body, as if this situation were anything but fucking weird and dream-like. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, mate. Ain’t never done ballet. I’m a street performer, s’all.”

“You must have had some sort of training,” Hart prompted, narrowing his eyes and smiling as if he knew what the answer would be. 

“Do I look like I can afford fucking lessons? I’m dancing on the street for 10p coins,” Eggsy spat, and Ryan groaned. He was always telling him not to be so defensive, but how the fuck was he meant to help it when rich people asked such fucking stupid questions?

“Have you ever considered dancing professionally? Entering the World Of Dance competition?”

Eggsy shook his head in disbelief as he flicked through his music to find another song to dance to. This conversation wasn’t going to last. “Don’t got time. Got mouths to feed.” 

The sound of Avicii came from the tinny speakers and Eggsy straightened out his t-shirt, ready to keep dancing and ignore the man. Jamal slapped him on the arm and gave him a wide-eyed, stop-fucking-around look. Eggsy shrugged.

Hart handed out a small card. Eggsy looked down at it gingerly. 

“We’re having auditions tomorrow for the next ballet. Swan Lake. I’d like to see you there, if you can make it.”

“I already said I don’t know how to do ballet. I don’t fit in with that crowd.”

“How would you know if you haven’t tried it?” the man smiled cunningly. “Consider the offer. Look up some YouTube tutorials. You move like a ballet dancer, even if you don’t know the positions.” 

They locked eyes and Eggsy could see the man wasn’t going to back down. Neither was he. 

Ryan took the card from Hart’s hand. 

“He’ll be there,” he said, nodding graciously like he was talking to fucking royalty. “Sir.”

Hart nodded at Ryan, Jamal, then looked once more at Eggsy, giving him another sweeping glance. “I understand what’s at risk. But if you do well tomorrow, I can make sure it’s worth it. I look forward to seeing you there.” And with a smile that looked like a fucking challenge, he turned on his heels, making his way towards the park exit.

The three of them stared at him as he went, unsure whether they’d shared a hallucination or not.

“Fucking _hell_!” Ryan cried. “Mate! This is fucking it! This is one of them Cinderella fucking stories! You’ve just been fucking talent scouted!”

“I ain’t here for that,” Eggsy said, trying to convince himself more than anything. He’d dreamed of dancing professionally as a little boy, but now he knew that real life worked differently. “I need money, not fucking ballet lessons.”

“Royal Fucking Ballet, Eggsy,” Jamal groaned in frustration. “You can’t turn that down. He was the fucking principal. If he thinks you can do it, then-”

“I ain’t fucking going, alright?” Eggsy shouted, snatching his phone and speakers. “I’m not here to fuck around, yeh?”

“He said he’s make it worth your time, Eggsy,” Ryan said gently, hopping to catch up with Eggsy as he made his way to the exit. “That means he’s going to pay you, don’t it?”

“Who would pay someone to go to a fucking audition, Ryan? It’s too good to be true. I’m not going, end of conversation.”

“But Eggsy-”

“That ain’t who I am, Jamal, alright? I’m not going to fucking pretend I’m something I’m not-”

“Fuck off, Eggsy.” Jamal stood in Eggsy’s way, crowding into his space. “If you don’t fucking go tomorrow, it’d be an insult to people like me and Ryan. We’re stuck in the estates the rest of our lives and we know it. But you? You’re talented Eggsy. You got something we don’t. If you turn this down…”

They stood in the middle of the path, tense silence washing over them.

“Go to the audition, you selfish fucking prick,” Ryan said with the hint of a laugh in his voice. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

 

Eggsy understood what Hart had meant, when he’d said he already moved like a ballet dancer. The control of the movements, the fluid, sweeping limbs- these were things he was already doing. He was already flexible, strong enough to pull these things off. He just had to know them. These things flew through his mind whilst he watched YouTube tutorials on silent in his room, whilst his mum and sister slept next door. 

Standing on his tiptoes was easy enough, too. He’d been doing that for a few years now, and his rank, twisted toes were a testament to that. No, all he needed to do was learn the positions. 

Besides it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried them before. Eggsy was obsessed with dancing, and if he stumbled across some cool ballet routines on YouTube once in a while, he wouldn’t not give it a try. He’d illegally downloaded Swan Lake, and other ballets before. Not that anyone could know that; that was the sort of shit that had you get the shit beaten out of you by Dean. But Eggsy had watched ballet. He liked it. The more he tried it, in fact, he loved it. 

Yeah. He could learn a few positions. Easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope I have you sufficiently hooked. In this chapter, the boys get to know each other.

Learning ballet positions wasn’t fucking easy, obviously. Eggsy was aching from the shapes he’d been pulling the night before. He’d gone to bed too late, trying to emulate Hiplet dancers and that little dancer in Sia’s Chandelier video. Shit was hard. Different. 

“What the fuck am I doing,” he muttered to himself as he approached the Covent Garden Ballet School. The people in here would be trained ballet dancers, learning the shit from the age of three, or something ridiculous. And here was Eggsy, rocking up with the knowledge of a few hours of YouTube tutorials. 

He’d looked up Harry Hart on Google. When he’d realised he had once been the face of the Royal Ballet, he had to admit he felt a little sheepish. The only reason his feet were taking him inside the large, echoing building of the Royal School of Ballet, was that Harry Hart had scouted him. And, Jamal’s words had struck a chord. 

He wasn’t putting on any fucking tights, though.

 

Harry could spot him instantly amongst the crowd of stretching candidates. Eggsy Unwin looked about as uncomfortable in the pair of tights (which he’d left for him in his locker) as any beginner. Lucky for him, he’d seemed to have found a friend in Roxy Morton, who was joining him in a few stretches. Other than the nervous energy he gave off, he seemed like a natural. 

He had done his research the night before, it seemed. But that didn’t change the fact that these people were far and away more advanced than him in ballet. Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d really made a smart choice, standing behind the glass of the observation deck above. And there was Charlie Heskith, Arthur’s candidate, sweeping his way to the empty spot next to Eggsy.

“Did you serve me at the McDonald’s in Winchester service station?”

Harry watched the scene play out. How much it reminded him of Merlin meeting the candidates all those years ago. Eggsy removed himself from the splits he was performing on the ballet barre, standing up straight, crowding Charlie’s space and clenching his jaw. 

“Dear Lord,” Harry muttered. 

“Fuck off, Charlie,” Roxy said. “Just ignore him, Eggsy.”

“Eggy?” Charlie drawled.

“What school did you go to?” asked Hugo. Harry recognised him as one of the students he’d taught. “Vaganova? Kirov?”

“School of American Ballet?” another man grimaced, and the others laughed. The little shits.

Harry watched closely, eyes following the way Eggsy folded himself perfectly back into the splits again and ignored them. Roxy mirrored him. 

An interesting duo, those two. 

“Didn’t go to ballet school. S’pose you could call me self-taught.” Harry could barely hear their conversation over the soft padding and thumping of the other candidates’ feet- though many had paused or slowed down to listen. Roxy had looked up from her position on the barre to stare at him incredulously.

“What are you even doing here, then?” Charlie laughed, looking around. “We’ve been training for this our whole lives. And you think you can just stroll in here without any training? You _are_ taking the piss.”

Eggsy visibly sighed, before standing up again.

“I don’t need to prove myself to no one.”

“Besides, Harry Hart scouted him himself,” Roxy added as she settled into first position. 

That made the men glance at each other cautiously. Harry smiled. 

“How can you expect to audition for Swan Lake without real training? This is fucking insulting,” said Hugo, waving at Eggsy dismissively. 

“Can you even do a pirouette?” 

A shit-eating grin spread across Eggsy’s face that could only mean bad news. “Can you even do _this_?”

Harry winced as Eggsy began to grind and gyrate against the barre. Roxy burst out laughing, as did most of the candidates in the room. Charlie looked disgusted.

Harry chuckled to himself and shook his head, registering a presence by his side.

“I’m guessing inviting Magic Mike along was your idea?”

“He’s actually quite talented, Merlin. Give him a chance.”

“It’s not me you should be worried about.”

Harry spotted Arthur doing rounds through the room. Those present fell into a focused, reverent silence. Eggsy emulated Roxy and alternated between en pointe and demi pointe positions. 

“I know what I’m doing,” Harry said. “I’ll be offering him one to one lessons to help him with the basics. It should be simple enough. The talent and physical ability is there already.” The boy was switching through all seven positions as he spoke, having memorised them already. 

“He does seem to be a natural. Even if he is self taught.” Merlin looked at him seriously. “Don’t fuck this up.”

“I can assure you, I won’t.”

 

Harry waited as the candidates filtered out of the changing rooms. Most of the chatted, having known each other for several years from the School. When Eggsy came out, sporting a black and yellow bomber jacket and a baseball cap, he was alone. 

“Hiya,” he said. 

“You’re a quick learner,” Harry began. He was; he’d fit in with the other candidates well, even if he was a fraction slower at remembering the positions Merlin was naming and calling out to the class. There were many in there who hadn’t shown the same strength or control as Eggsy.

“’S not too bad,” Eggsy agreed. “All this ballet stuff. I can’t do this again, though. Got things to do.”

“I quite understand,” Harry began. “But I’m willing to offer you one to one training. Show you the basics, and a few other things. Put you on par with the rest of the candidates.”

“An’ I’m telling you I can’t afford that,” Eggsy argued, pushing past him. “I can’t afford to fanny about, I have a family to feed, yeah?”

“I did promise I’d make it worth your while,” Harry reminded him. “I can offer you a scholarship, of sorts.”

Eggsy stopped in his tracks, turning round to look at Harry hesitantly. “Why?”

“You’re talented,” Harry replied quickly. “I don’t want to see that squandered because of your circumstances.”

“My circumstances?” Eggsy said, making his way out of the building again. “God, you fucking rich people. I ain’t a charity case, yeh?”

“Not at all,” Harry followed him out into the sunshine. “Let’s discuss this over lunch, shall we? I’m sure I can persuade you that a career in dancing is worth your while.”

“That’s not the point.” Eggsy stared dead ahead as they walked through Covent Garden. 

“Then what is it?” Harry began. “Pride?”

Eggsy’s huffed angrily. “You don’t know shit. You get that? You don’t know shit.”

Harry wasn’t going to give up. For someone with so much passion and talent to slip through his grasp now, after all these years? “I am offering you a scholarship, Eggsy. All expenses paid. We offer one to someone in the School every year.”

Their pace slowed down till they were both standing in the cobbled streets. He could see the cogs whirring. 

“I’ve wanted something like this to come along since I was little,” he began. “You don’t need to persuade me that I should dance. I just find it hard to believe that you’re really going to pay me. When I haven’t had a single fucking ballet lesson. Paying me to have one to one lessons. Besides, ain’t that kind of favouritism not allowed?”

Merlin had told Harry as much. It was _technically_ allowed. Especially since he’d taught many of the other candidates himself, too. “What Arthur King doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

 

 

Eggsy didn’t know why the fucking guy cared so much. But whilst they were eating pasta in Covent Garden, sitting outside in the sun after the first audition, Eggsy figured that he didn’t have anything to loose.

Of course, the scholarship- which Harry had said was one thousand pounds- wasn’t enough to solve his problem. It was enough to cover the rent for a month or so, but he was going to have to figure something else out if he was going to do this. How could he turn down an opportunity like this, when an ex-ballet prodigy was telling him he was worth the effort? No one had shown him this much interest before. And Jamal’s words kept replaying in his head. It was the only thing that had kept him in that studio after those fuckers had cornered him. Besides, they didn’t all seem bad. Roxy seemed ace. And there were some people in that room who might have been good at ballet, but didn’t have the passion or physical strength he did. Eggsy couldn’t deny that he was a better dancer than some of the people in that room, even if that felt weird to admit. 

Eggsy stared at his spaghetti carbonara, twisting his fork around the pasta. 

“Swan Lake,” Eggsy began.

“Yes,” Harry said. 

“So you’re looking for the whole cast, or the two main roles?”

“The whole cast. However, everyone who was in that room today is aiming for the roles of Odette and Siegried. They’ve been training their whole lives for an opportunity like this.”

Eggsy dropped his fork, hands flying to his forehead. “Fucking hell, if one more fucker says that- I’m not like those people. I’ve been dancing my whole life, but I’ve been doing it in my room, not a fucking ballet studio.” Anxiety rose in his chest. “I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense. Ever seen Nikita?”

What the fuck? “No.”

Harry’s face twisted minutely at some internal joke. “Pretty Woman?”

“No…”

“Fine. Look, Eggsy, you have all the tools to become a better dancer than any of the men in that room. All that’s needed is a little polishing.” Harry was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed. He was wearing another suit, well cut, showing off his slim dancing physique. He looked at Eggsy from behind his sunglasses, a playful smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I can teach you the details. Perhaps even show you how to behave like a real gentleman. Unlike that little scene you pulled off today.”

“Oh- like My Fair Lady?”

Eggsy loved that movie. Him and Mum used to watch it. Apparently it was a favourite of dad’s too. Seeing the raised eyebrows and disbelieving smile that teased Harry’s handsome features, though, and Eggsy was embarrassed he’d said anything. 

“Yes, like My Fair Lady. You’re full of surprises.”

As if a little ‘polishing’ could teach him to be a professional ballet dancer. He was a street performer, born in the estates. This wasn’t for him. And yet as much as logic told him that this wouldn’t work, he could hear another voice in his head- telling him to go for it, never look back. Because what _did_ he have to lose? Besides, who else could say that they’d had private lessons with Harry Hart? It was strange. To have a complete stranger be more invested in his success than anyone else he’d known his whole life. He allowed himself to settle on this thought as Harry refilled his glass of water and gazed out at the shoppers around them. 

Eating lunch in Covent Garden with a professional dancer. Yeah. He could do worse than this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first private lesson.

His bag was packed with the tights and lycra Harry had donated for his first audition. A bottle of Lucozade and his phone charger were thrown into the mix, as well as his wallet. He made to leave his room, stopping and retracing his steps to check his reflection. New winged Nikes. Denim shirt buttoned to the top. Yes, he looked good. Not that it should matter, since he’d be getting changed before Harry would see him.

Eggsy wasn’t even sure why it should occur to him to look good in front of Harry- possibly something to do with the fact that Harry was his posh ballet dancer teacher who wanted to polish this diamond in the rough. 

“Eggsy? Where you off to, love?” 

Eggsy winced, popping his head around the doorframe of his mum’s bedroom. The curtains were closed and she was in her dressing gown. She obviously hadn’t slept much. The bags under her eyes said it all. Daisy was climbing around inside her cot, trying to get out. 

“Got a job interview. Daisy, what you doin’ climbin’ out of there?”

“You used to do the same. Couldn’t stop moving, you. What job is it?” 

Michelle wasn’t stupid, and Eggsy knew it. But for now, they could go along with this game. 

“Shop job in Covent Garden.” It was half true, at least.

Michelle smiled. There was no trace of it in her eyes. “Go smash it, love.” Eggsy kissed her on the head and ran out. Closing the door behind him, he felt his phone buzz. Roxy had found him on Facebook, then.

He created a new message on the Messenger app.

_Alright darlin_

_Hello! I had literally no idea how to spell Eggsy and was so convinced I’d never find you_

_haha yeh I guess it’s a bit of a weird one_  
_actually on my way to one of the private lessons I was tellin you about_

_!!! I’m so impressed/jealous_  
_I hope he’s wearing spandex for your sake. He’s such an attractive man_

_oh my god rox didn’t he teach you at RBS_

_yes and he only wore spandex once when he was showing us a particular routine, it was excellent_  
_besides I didn’t get to have a one to one session with him ;)_

All Eggsy could manage in response was _haha_ because this conversation was beginning to get uncomfortable.

If Dean had ever caught him watching ballet, or even dancing his room, he’d not only have been ‘Worthless Piece of Shit’ but possibly also ‘Faggot’. That was a term he’d managed to avoid his whole life. He’d done that by ignoring the fact that he was possibly bisexual, and by keeping his dancing to himself and the crowds of Holborn. What Dean and his lackies didn’t know kept Eggsy out of hospital. 

When he’d been at school, Eggsy had had a crush on his English teacher, Mr Scott. He’d also fancied Miss Summerhawk. One of them, he kept secret. The other, he bragged about with the other lads at school. Of course, Jamal and Ryan knew. Neither of them cared; it wasn’t a topic that was ever discussed, unless Eggsy brought it up. But he had a sneaking suspicion Michelle knew. Even now, after he’d driven Dean out of the place when he came back from the marines, it wasn’t easy to come out. Eggsy wasn’t even sure if it was worth the effort.

So it was strange for Roxy to bring up the idea of Eggsy not being straight so easily. She wasn’t suggesting he was anything, per se. Just saying he was lucky to have Harry Hart teach him one to one. Eggsy supposed that most of the men she knew were gay ballet dancers, which would explain it. He also hoped she didn’t get the wrong idea about why he was here. He couldn’t deal with people thinking he was sleeping his way up the ranks.

Walking from Alexandra Road to Covent Garden was easy. Also meant no bus fair. It was a nice walk too, once you got out of the estates, so Eggsy allowed himself to get his head in the game, give himself a pep talk as he walked. Because yes, he might be new to ballet, but Harry Hart thought he was worth teaching, and thought he could compete for a place in Swan Lake. So he could do this. And if later tonight he made up for lost time by doing his shift at the local men’s strip club, well, that was alright. If this worked out at the Royal Ballet School, he could make a real career out of dancing. He could look after mum and Daisy properly. It would all be worth it in the end. And if along the way he enjoyed himself, that was an added bonus. 

That was when he found himself at the School. He put the Swan Lake music on his phone as he made his way to the changing rooms and got ready. He was going to need a new pair of shoes in a couple of weeks already. As if he didn’t need to save his money for more important things. He’d try and make them last if he could.

Harry was waiting in the same studio he’d been in the day before for the audition. His hair was swept back, glasses off. And he was in tights. He’d have to let Roxy know.

“Congratulations for making it through the first audition.”

Eggsy stopped abruptly. “Wait- really?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have brought you along if I didn’t think you’d make it through the first stage. There were people in that room who’d been learning their whole lives, but didn’t show the same basic strength and flexibility as you. It won’t be so easy next time around, though,” Harry added. He beckoned him over to the barre. Eggsy followed his lead wordlessly. 

“Olympic rowers can become Olympic cyclists within the year. Or, vice versa. Both athletes use the same muscles, and are required the same amount of stamina and strength, but there are new techniques to master. Equally, I will be helping you transfer your street dancing skills to ballet.”

Eggsy lifted his right leg to the bar, reaching up and back with his right arm, emulating Harry’s movements. It felt good. He kept his gaze on their reflection in the mirror in front of him. Holding for a few moments, silently, Harry moved his left arm to touch his right toe. Eggsy followed effortlessly.

“This kind of flexibility isn’t achieved easily. You’ve done much of the hard work already,” he continued. “But know this.”

Harry led them into the splits, Eggsy’s eyes trained on his dark ones in the mirror.

“You can’t hold back in dancing. You move well, certainly, with emotion. It’s part of why I chose to bring you along yesterday. But an audience can tell when a dancer is holding back, when he’s thinking too hard. Allow anything to cloud your mind when you’re performing, and there’s no point. Your audience will know.”

Eggsy held his gaze, looking back at the older man’s dark eyes. He could see them better now, closer up, without glasses.

There was always something Eggsy was holding back, keeping at bay because it was easier to ignore than deal with. 

“We all have shit to deal with. But if you can’t leave that behind when you come on stage, don’t bother coming to these lessons.”

Eggsy nodded stiffly. 

“That’s not to say you shouldn’t feel whatever conflicting emotions you’re experiencing,” Harry said, leading him through first to fifth position. “Rather, use it to your advantage. God knows I had my issues when I was at my peak; perhaps it was the passion I felt and harnessed that made me quite so sympathetic on stage.”

“You reckon an audience would like to see a fucked up, emotional chav dancing his heart out on stage?” 

Harry rolled his eyes, holding onto the bar and leading his foot above his head so that his arm and leg created a tear drop shape with his curved back. Eggsy watched the minute movements, copying him as best he could. Harry nodded in approval. “If he’s a good ballet dancer, yes.”

“Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I ain’t like the other candidates.”

“No. But perhaps it’s time for a change.” They straightened up, and Harry looked Eggsy up and down, surveying him post-warm-up. 

“I’m the token poor bloke, then?” Eggsy quipped.

“Some may see you that way,” Harry agreed. “You should be prepared for more of the likes of Charlie Heskith. No. I’ve made it clear by now that I brought you’re here based on talent and passion. It’s not often you see someone who cares so intensely about dancing- who dances for reasons other than the fact that it runs in the family.”

Eggsy looked down at his feet, setting them in first position to give himself an excuse not to look at Harry. “Yeah, well. I won’t disappoint you.”

Looking back up at him, he could see the determination in his eyes, mirroring Eggsy’s. “No, I don’t believe you will. Come on then, let’s get started. Plié, elevé, now tendu front, back, toe, toe, front, toe, toe…”

Eggsy followed Harry’s words and movements, forgetting everything he’d been thinking about outside of the school. Occasionally, Harry would stop demonstrating to walk around Eggsy, looking at his body’s movements, correcting his posture and positions. Now and then, he would indicate particular mistakes Eggsy was making by pointing them out in the mirror, or comparing his perfected own technique. And Harry’s technique really was perfect- his body was still in excellent shape. After what felt like hours of going from first to fifth position, going through the devants and derrieres, they moved onto the arabesques, the releves, piqués.

“This really is a crash course,” Eggsy said to himself more than anyone else. 

“It is. You have a lot to learn if you’re to catch up. Now, show me the first arabesque, like we did before.” 

Harry watched Eggsy with fierce focus as he straightened his knee and extended his right leg behind him, keeping his left foot planted. His arms followed the motion of his body. 

“Shoulders down,” Harry ordered. Eggsy let his shoulders fall down and back, chest out. “Better. Don’t let your hands flop around like that.” He took Eggsy’s left hand and straightened out his fingers, lifting his hand up by the wrist so it was relaxed but less dead. Eggsy could feel Harry behind him as he held the arabesque.

“For a man who’d never had a ballet lesson in his life, this is quite remarkable. The arabesque is quite an advanced move, Eggsy.”

“Ain’t even jumped around anywhere, yet,” he said. 

Harry snorted. Eggsy took a little pride in being able to make the stern, gentlemanly Harry Hart laugh. “Yes well, control is needed before you start ‘jumping around’.”

It was true that this was a lot more restrained than the dancing he was used to. Right now, it was all forming positions and holding them. But there was a peace, a balance to it all that he didn’t realise he was craving. It was kind of like yoga. Eggsy felt more at peace when he held an arabesque than… well, ever. And with Harry standing behind him, his voice reassuring him-

“Shoulders down,” Harry repeated. His voice was low, quite, incredibly close to his ear. It was all he could do not to jump, or fall out of position. He could see Harry out of his periphery- his jawline, his nose. “Switch legs. Let’s see if you can do the second arabesque.”

Eggsy wanted so much to prove to Harry how quickly he could learn. How much he could do. He switched legs, and gently raised himself into the second arabesque, letting his muscles complain quietly at the effort. It felt good. Strong. And then Harry was nudging his chin up, and he suddenly felt a little weaker. 

“Good,” Harry hummed. The way those dark eyes scanned over his body- Eggsy found that the man’s focus made him feel quite differently to how it did before, in Holborn’s park. “There’s a tendency for male beginners to create harsh lines with their bodies. Sacrifice grace for strength. You don’t seem to be guilty of this. I suppose we have your street dancing experience to thank for that. Your form is quite…” Harry trailed off, gaze following the languid line of Eggsy’s raised arm. “… Exquisite.”

Eggsy swallowed. He could feel the first bead of sweat dripping down his temple. Harry noticed, a smile tugging at his lips.

“That will be all for today- though please warm down with me, first. You can only maintain your flexibility by warming down. And I want you to do a few core stability exercises every morning before our sessions…”

Now that he wasn’t concentrating, Eggsy’s thoughts flooded back to his brain. And it was then that it occurred to him, as he stretched at the barre beside his teacher, that he was attracted to Harry Hart. 

After the warm down, he practically ran out of there. He was halfway through messaging Ryan on his walk home when he thought better of it. No- he could keep this to himself. 

This was the first good opportunity he’d had since the marines. Nothing was going to fuck this up, absolutely nothing, and definitely not maybe having the hots for his dance teacher. His dance teacher who’d brought him to the Royal Ballet School to audition for one of the most famous productions of Swan Lake in the world.

“Fucking hell, Eggsy,” he grumbled to himself as he stormed through Holborn. 

There were far more important things to focus on in life right now than his little crush for Harry Hart. 

And a crush was something that could be crushed right back down. 

 

The club was always busy on Friday nights. He and the boys are would hardly have any time rest. Of course that was why Eggsy worked Fridays- you were guaranteed good money coming in. He couldn’t face dancing every night, but if he had to choose, it would be Friday, every time. The place would be filled with posh working men, tired of their week’s work- and, probably, pretending they weren’t gay. The club itself was fairly decent- dark enough that the people who came wouldn’t be able to recognise anyone around them the stage lit up enough that you could see the dancers’ pretty faces. There was the main stage, and three catwalks stemming from it, at the end of each one a pole. Eggsy was usually in the middle one. He was due to perform any moment.

But right now, he was having a panic attack in the staff bathroom.

Head between his knees, the sound of the bass thumping its way through to the bathroom stall. Eggsy’s shaky breaths rattled in the cramped space. His body was tense, his stomach churning from the thought of going out there again. 

But he knew he had to. He had to. For Daisy, for mum. So he stood up and swung the cubicle door open, inspecting his shirtless body in the mirror. Splashed his face.

A crush could be crushed down. But these feelings? They weren’t so easy to ignore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arguments.

On Saturday morning, Harry waited for Eggsy in the very same studio they had trained in yesterday. The boy may have proven to be a quick learner, but there was a lot he had to know before he started learning the routine for Swan Lake. For starters, he had to actually learn the positions in it. It was so monumental a task that as Harry leaned at the barre in his usual suit, watching his own reflection, he seemed to challenge himself with his own gaze- what was he thinking? Training a beginner for a role- _the_ role in Swan Lake? 

But for all that the logical side of Harry’s brain was telling him this was all quite ridiculous- and he did know that very well- he ignored it. Something he was very good at. In fact, he was very _very_ good at ignoring the better part of his judgement if it meant he got his way. And right now, he wanted to see Eggsy on stage, performing for the Royal Ballet. When he closed his eyes and let his imagination do the work, he could see him. He could see Eggsy Unwin where he had once stood, that stubborn face of his looking out over the audience, almost daring them to imagine better. 

Because, for all that Harry had tried, he couldn’t find better. He hadn’t found better than Eggsy Unwin. There were plenty of people who knew more of the ballet basics than him, but had never shown him what he was looking for. Art wasn’t art it there wasn’t any passion, meaning behind it. And for so long, the only meaning Harry had seen behind his students’ dancing was that their parents had pressured them to joining the School. Even the people who really loved dancing didn’t show the interest, the love, the need that Eggsy exuded when he danced. Eggsy didn’t just dance because he wanted to. He danced because he had to, needed to. Harry knew that there was more to it. He was certain that there was something driving Eggsy Unwin that he’d never understand. 

Perhaps that was what he saw, he considered as he paced the studio impatiently, even though Eggsy wasn’t due for another ten minutes. Perhaps Eggsy was so good at dancing because he did it despite his circumstances. He wasn’t pressured into it by parents, and it was quite likely he was expected to do better things with his time. 

That was it. Eggsy danced to stay alive, and to stay sane. And Harry knew that feeling all too well, which was why he recognised it in the man’s tense face every time he danced, every time he tried to argue that he couldn’t do this, couldn’t be a professional ballet dancer. There was something driving him. Something that kept that fire burning. 

Harry remembered his words yesterday, gaze falling away from his reflection and to his Oxfords. _Perhaps it was the passion I felt and harnessed that made me quite so sympathetic on stage._

Of course, there was a very large chance that this wouldn’t work out. That Eggsy simply wouldn’t be able to learn all that was required in such a short amount of time. That Arthur saw him and immediately sent him packing. But Harry knew he had to follow his instinct with this one. And his instinct usually took him in the right direction.

At that moment, Eggsy came in. 

“Good morning. Did you find the new shoes I left for you?”

Eggsy looked down at his feet as if to remind himself what shoes were. “Yeh,” he said uncomfortably. “Yeh, thanks. But you don’t have to keep-” 

“Nonsense. It costs a lot to practice this much. It was my decision to pluck you from Holborn’s parks and train you without any warning- it’s the least I can do.”

Eggsy seemed content with this answer and went to the barre. Harry stood back to watch his form and call positions and stretches. 

It was strange, to see their reflections side by side. He wasn’t sure why.

Eggsy yawned. “Late night?” Harry asked rather pointedly.

“No. Just sleeping badly.”

A blatant lie, Harry knew, though he wasn’t sure why. Having known Eggsy for only a week or so, he had at least learned that he wasn’t they type to lie, or pretend he was something he wasn’t. If he’d gone out drinking the night before, Harry would have expected him to practically boast about it, taunt him, dare him to chastise him. So Harry didn’t respond to his answer, only dictating stretches. After fifteen minutes of exercises, he’d decided that Eggsy was suitably stretched- finding it hard to ignore a rather frightening looking scar at his shoulder, or the outstanding grace with which the man moved.

“Found a video of you on YouTube last night.”

That stopped Harry short. Eggsy was grinning at him, going through first to fifth position without thinking. Each position was perfect. 

“Yeah,” he prompted, “It was a BBC film, just little clips, mind. Back when you was in La Bayadere.”

“That must have been…”

“Nineteen eighty-five,” Eggsy finished, still showing off that large, cheeky smile. “You were my age.”

Harry tutted. “Yes, well, no need to rub it in. Now listen.” And he did- Eggsy formed every position Harry dictated, and almost every one was perfect, despite having only learned them the day before. The way the boy moved… even such simple exercises, without a particular routine, showed an elegance and joy that he had seen so little of for so many years. The set of Eggsy’s jaw, the mischievous glint in his eye, the strength of his body as he moved to Harry’s words. He knew that he had found someone special. 

When he let his hand settle on Eggsy’s shoulder, he knew he should have thought better of it. He never showed physical affection towards any of his pupils. So he allowed his hand to trace up the man’s arm as he formed the fondu position, gently guiding it outwards. He could feel the man’s body tense beneath his hand.

“Judging by the way you move, it’s quite remarkable that you should have gained all this from street dancing. It’s as if you have learned similar positions before.”

Eggsy blinked, resolutely looking ahead of him. 

“Have you tried any other kind of dance before?”

“I’ve dabbled,” Eggsy muttered. 

So he didn’t want to talk about it. Well, Harry thought, Eggsy wasn’t the only one who was stubborn here. He recognised the way he gripped the barre, they way he formed shapes with his body. Harry was only ashamed he had only just put two and two together. “Pole dancing, perhaps?”

Eggsy physically jolted out of position, turning away from him. “A long time ago. Not anymore. I don’t wanna talk about it, yeh?”

“It makes sense. Pole dancing compliments ballet skills well. I should have noticed earlier, really-”

“I said I don’t want to talk about this no more, aight? Just give me some fucking moves to do, yeh?” Eggsy demanded, continuing to extend his leg and bend it again into the fondu position. Harry stood in front of him, crowding his vision. He hoped he was as intimidating as he intended to be, though Harry found it hard to impress the boy as much as he did his other, sometimes bordering obsequious, students. The way Eggsy looked up at him only supported his suspicions about his attitude towards authority figures. There was always a challenge in his eyes. 

“Let me make it clear, that whilst I know shit all about your life, you also know shit all about mine, Eggsy. You may be making sacrifices to be here, but so am I. It’s not often that I train someone from scratch. So a little gratitude wouldn’t be amiss.”

Eggsy’s formerly fierce expression melted. So bizarre, how a man could convey so much defiance, and then so much softness within a matter of seconds. “I am grateful. And I meant what I said yesterday. I won’t let you down.”

Harry felt his brain falter at the words. He recovered quickly. “Good. Then show me an arabesque. Third position.”

And he did, flawlessly. He held it seemingly effortlessly, and when Harry gave him a sequence of positions to practice, as a sort small routine, Eggsy flowed from one to the other with all the grace of a professional. He could see the boy’s future flashing before his eyes already. His own future training him, gathering the roses thrown on stage for him.

Yes. Harry was very, _very_ good at ignoring what his brain was trying to tell him, when he wanted to.

“Have you come across the term ‘pirouette a la seconde’, Eggsy?”

He didn’t falter from his little routine, passing from tendu to tendu, a few moments en couru, before finishing on an arabesque. “Yeh. That’s that spinny one, yeh?”

The words that came out of Eggsy’s mouth were completely incompatible with the beautiful shapes he was creating with his body. It made Harry sigh out loud- a luxury he rarely indulged in around his students. 

“Yes, Eggsy. Most people can do one, at most. In Swan Lake, Odette will be expected to perform 30.”

“Fuck me,” Eggsy murmered, once again showing that a man’s language and body didn’t have to match. 

“Quite. It’s a very difficult move, and one that even the men must be able to master before the next audition. Before we do that, we should try one or two other things-”

“Ah, what? You can’t tell me that and then teach me something else,” Eggsy said, stopping what he was doing and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That’s just teasin’.”

Unbelievable.

“You want to try a pirouette a la seconde’?”

“Absolutely.”

“Right now?”

“Fuck yes.”

Harry looked at him square on. This boy was full of surprises. Considering his track record, he could probably fucking pull it off. 

“Well tough,” Harry decided, and Eggsy slumped in disappointment. “We’re going to do some simple jetés first. Perhaps a grand jeté, by the end of the lesson.”

“Aight,” Eggsy conceded. “What’s gonna be in the next audition? Am I gonna have to do a pirouette?”

“I’m afraid I’d have to kill you if I told you,” Harry said dryly, going to stand on the opposite end of the studio to Eggsy. When Eggsy laughed brightly at Harry’s words, he made sure to ignore the way it made his chest swell. 

 

When he found Merlin at their usual pub after the session, he was grateful that it was socially acceptable to drink at lunch time. Merlin’s eyebrows actually rose when Harry entered the room, Oxfords clacking against the worn wooden floor, as if he could sense his tension. 

“Have you just been teaching Eggsy?” he asked, as Harry settled at the bar stool next to him.

“I have.”

“Still a ballet prodigy?” 

Harry sighed wearily, though he wasn’t sure why. He waved the barman down, who started pouring his usual Guinness without asking. “It appears so. Today he showed me a perfect grand jeté, and a pas de ciseaux.” 

Merlin’s eyebrows raised even further. “That chip on the shoulder isn’t holding him back too much, then?”

“No, although we shall have to see what Arthur thinks.”

“True,” Merlin conceded, taking a sip of his own pint. It was usually busy at lunch time here, but for some reason it was a little quieter than he was used to. Harry found that he missed the noise to distract him.

“I think he’s the one, Merlin,” Harry said.

“Yes,” Merlin replied, as if he’d been thinking the same thing. “I’ve not seen much of him, granted, but he’s far and away more interesting than any of the other male candidates.”

“He told me that he used to do pole dancing. Which explains a lot.”

“It does. Though you have to wonder where he learned that. I can’t imagine many lads from the estates go to pole dancing lessons.”

“He was very eager to change the subject.” 

Merlin nodded, considering this. “In all seriousness, Harry. Do you think Arthur will allow him to even get as far as the next audition?”

Harry let out a long sigh. “Arthur doesn’t have to know about him. Besides, you and I both know that he’s the guilty one.”

Two weeks ago, Merlin had overheard Arthur talking to Charlie Heskith’s father. It appeared that he was being paid to allow Charlie to make it to the final audition. If he could get him that far, Heskith was willing to pay more to have him picked for the lead role. Merlin had told Harry, but nobody else. The two men figured that it would make useful leverage. 

“We haven’t got any evidence, Harry.”

Harry looked at him. Merlin sighed and rolled his eyes, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“I _could_ find evidence-”

“Rather easily, if I know you well-”

“But is it worth the risk, Harry?” Merlin’s gaze fixed on him. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in that way he did when he was figuring something out. “Unless I’m missing something here. Is Eggsy worth the risk?”

“Have you been listening to a word I’ve been saying? The man’s a prodigy-”

“Yes, I’ve heard all that,” Merlin interrupted impatiently, eyes narrowing even further. “But you do seem especially invested in him.”

Harry held in a deep breath, looking around the room. He sat perfectly still on the bar stool. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin.”

“That’s it!” Merlin said, leaning towards him and barely holding back a smile. “You-”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry warned. “Absolutely not. I’m invested purely on a professional basis-”

“Och, bull _shit _.”__

__“You know we can’t talk about this here.”_ _

__“So you accept that there is a ‘this’ to talk about? You’re not just here to teach him.”_ _

__“That’s not true at all,” Harry argued, and he didn’t sound convincing even to himself. “I barely know the man. Besides the fact that he is at least half my age. If anything, I would say that ‘this’, as you put it, is merely a dedicated teacher–student dynamic.”_ _

__Merlin shook his head. “Unbelievable.”_ _

__Harry waited for the man to expand on the comment. “Anything in particular you’re referring to, old friend?”_ _

__Merlin only shook his head again, his pint hovering below his lips. He put it back down again. “Harry-”_ _

__“Oh bloody hell, here we go. I shouldn’t have asked.”_ _

__“As your ‘old friend’, I know you rather well by this point. You might want to ignore whatever… ‘this’ is-”_ _

__“Nothing, Merlin. Nothing.”_ _

__“But that doesn’t mean that I can’t see it. He walks in the room and you’re edgy and nervous, like a bloody school boy.”_ _

__“Has it occurred to you that I might be excited to find some fresh talent?” Harry drawled over his Guinness._ _

__“Ah, but that’s not it,” Merlin said, waving a finger as if he’d come upon an eureka moment. “I haven’t seen you this buzzed since you met Jonathan.”_ _

__“My exes have nothing to do with this,” Harry argued, practically slamming down his pint glass and unable to look at Merlin. How could he be suggesting this? “I’ve barely known Eggsy for a week.”_ _

__“And _yet_ ,” Merlin prompted, finally taking a drink and shutting up, if not for a moment. When he looked back at Harry, he looked suddenly rather more serious. “And yet, you’re willing to risk everything for him. Even your career. I’ve seen you like this before, Harry.”_ _

__“ _Merlin_ -”_ _

__“All I’m saying is, be careful. Maybe don’t try so hard to ignore it. Smothering your feelings doesn’t always do you any good.”_ _

__He refused to respond to this. He didn’t know why Merlin was so interested in the topic, especially considering that he rarely wanted anything to do with _anyone’s_ personal life. To suggest that he actually had feelings for Eggsy, was attracted to him, this man who’s career who took so seriously- it was downright insulting. He hoped Merlin could catch the waves of disdain he was silently emitting. _ _

__“This conversation is over. If you’re going to misinterpret my professional relationship with Eggsy Unwin, then I don’t want to hear anything more on the matter.”_ _

__Merlin snorted with derision. “Good God, man, open your eyes. I’ll be the first to agree that I have no idea what I’m talking about when it comes to being attracted to someone you’ve just met. It makes no fucking sense to me. But I’d bet money on this little thing you have going with Eggsy Unwin being _a little more_ than a professional relationship. And I can guarantee that ignoring it will make it worse. And you certainly don’t want to lead him on.”_ _

__“Yes, thank you,” Harry said bitterly. He pushed his drink away. “I think it’s about time I left. Have a lovely weekend, Merlin.”_ _

__When he got up to leave the pub, he didn’t respond to Merlin’s goodbye. He left Covent Garden and walked home feeling more tense than he had before his drink._ _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I recently discovered that fouettes aren't very often actually performed by male ballet dancers. I had actually gone through the whole fic and changed the term fouette to a more suitable term. But then my document seems to have forgotten all those corrections. So I've gone through it again and changed it. Hopefully it's all corrected now 
> 
> Thanks for all the support so far!

Eggsy hasn’t stopped doing pirouettes a la seconde since Harry mentioned them.

The kitchen in his and mum’s flat had a lino floor; when mum and Daisy would go out food shopping, he’d take to the tiny kitchen, put on his shoes, and try his best at a pirouette. When he wasn’t having lessons with Harry, or dancing at the club, he had fuck all else to do. So he practised, any moment he could. He watched tutorials, he watched ballets, he read up on Swan Lake. It had been two weeks since Harry had casually dropped in the term ‘pirouette a la seconde' and how challenging it was. Eggsy knew he had to try as soon has he had the space. 

For the past two weeks, he’d knocked over half of the pots and pans off the counter and onto the floor in an attempt to catch himself. He’d fallen face first into the wall. He’d swept off Daisy’s drawings stuck on the fridge door. He’d fallen flat on his arse. 

He was going to get this fucking right, come audition two.

The kitchen was far too small, really; if he could practice in the studio right now, he could extend his leg properly to maintain momentum and balance. As it was, all he could do was clatter into things and destroy the kitchen. When his phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, it was all he could do not to fall flat on his face again with the surprise, mid-pirouette.

It was Roxy. _have you seen the email? The audition’s on Wednesday lunchtime_

Eggsy checked his email. Sure enough, there was an email from Merlin, with a clip from Swan Lake attached. It was a twenty-second video, and they were meant to learn the short routine for Wednesday to perform. 

The pirouettes would have to wait, then.

 _fancy getting a pint after_ , he typed.

_god yes_

 

Harry and Merlin had sat through several boring attempts at the routine they had provided the class to perform before them. It was only a short sequence, but it was an important scene in the play. If they couldn’t get this right, it was game over. Everyone, except for the dynamic Roxy Morton, had fallen short of the mark, by their standards. 

And Harry found himself suddenly rather nervous for Eggsy. 

When the boy came on stage, he didn’t exude the normal cockiness that Harry was growing accustomed to. Eggsy seemed tired, tense, his body language showing that he’d rather be anywhere than on the stage. Harry’s heart dropped as he watched from his seat at the front row.

“Whenever you’re ready, Eggsy,” Merlin said, writing Eggsy’s name and candidate number on a fresh sheet of paper. 

Eggsy’s sharp jaw seemed to wind tighter shut at the words, before giving a stiff nod. His eyes betrayed an anxiety that Harry suspected he’d been trying to keep at bay this whole time. They hadn’t practised this routine together- Harry would have if he were allowed. But since none of the other candidates were having personal tutelage, he and Merlin had agreed that it would be an unfair advantage to also teach Eggsy the routine privately. So, as Harry watched Eggsy settle into position, he pressed play to start the music, and a heavy weight of nerves slid down to his stomach. 

Eggsy started well. He glided from foot to foot, extending his arms and using his hands just as Harry had taught him. But at some point the anxiety- or whatever it was holding him back- brought that stiffness back into his body, and although Eggsy was moving with technical accuracy, it was hard to watch. Harry and Merlin looked at each other. Eggsy came to a jolty stop at the end of the routine, tripping over his feet for a moment before recovering as the music faded. 

The man was visibly sweating, every joint in his body wound up tight, so that he was almost shaking with the effort of holding himself together. He stood up straight and looked down at them, deflated, but, as ever, eyeing them up as if preparing for a challenge. 

Merlin sighed, quiet enough that only Harry could register his disappointment. It was nothing compared to his own. They looked at each other again. It was seldom that a friendship as long standing as theirs needed words to communicate. Harry measured Merlin’s stern gaze and nodded in agreement.

“Try again,” Merlin said, without looking at the boy. He put aside the notes he had written for the previous performance, putting them in the pile of rubbish. 

Eggsy looked between the two of them. Harry looked back at Eggsy, meeting the challenge in his eyes, not backing down.

“You wha’?”

“He said, try again,” Harry said primly, adjusting his glasses and nudging them up the bridge of his nose. 

 

Eggsy couldn’t believe his fucking ears. As if he needed any more little shows of charity. He knew for a fact that the other lads didn’t get another fucking go. 

“Why? I fucked up, I know I did. Now you can send me home and stop worrying about putting a chav like me on stage.”

“I’ve seen you do better,” Harry said more loudly this time, more frustration in his voice. “Now. Try. Again.”

There weren’t many people who could stare him down. In fact, no one could. The only person he knew who could put up with Eggsy’s stubbornness- and he knew that’s what it was- was Harry Hart. Even Ryan, even Jamal gave up when they knew they couldn’t draw the horse to water. So when those stern eyes met his, and Eggsy remembered why he was there in the first place, he forced his anger aside, his hurt and defiance against everyone who never gave him a chance. The man who was staring him down right now had given him that chance. 

But that anger would never abate, no matter how he tried to push it aside. Even now, when Merlin and Harry were giving him this second chance, he couldn’t fucking believe it, couldn’t trust it enough to believe in himself and believe he belonged there. 

People always lied. People disappeared from your life, took from you, sucked out everything good. He just couldn’t believe that Harry Hart was any different. Even if he did have feelings for him- in fact, especially because he had feelings for him. 

Which he was very studiously ignoring. 

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, the angry, wounded part of Eggsy talking whilst the hopeful, trusting Eggsy screamed at him to stop. “I’ll try again. Let me show you what I can really fucking do, yeh? Fuck all this set routine crap,” he said, and then he started to dance, but it wasn’t ballet. He was free-styling, and it was all he could do to let that anger out right now, so he let his body move. “This is what I do, I can’t fucking do what you’re asking me to do, aight?” he said, coming to an abrupt stop. His hands flew up to his forehead, and he scrubbed his face. 

“And that’s very nice. But it’s not ballet,” Merlin said calmly.

“I ain’t meant to be here, alright? You both fucking know it. You’re trying to make a ballerina out of me when I ain’t that sort of guy. You just want a fucking token common person on your team, yeh? Is that it?” he bellowed, and he cringed when he saw the anger in Harry’s eyes.

Merlin put down his pen and looked up at him evenly. “Get that chip off your shoulder, boy. You’re here because you’re a good dancer. You know you are, too. We don’t have ‘token’ anything here. Just the best of the best. If you blow this now, then this is over, and you’re out.”

Eggsy’s breathing was uncontrollable, he could feel his chest rise and fall, completely disconnected from his brain. He barely realised he’d begun to dance, his vision swimming with anger and anxiety, but this time it wasn’t street dancing, it was ballet. It was freestyle ballet, something he’d never done before, and suddenly defiant, angry Eggsy came together with the Eggsy who trusted in himself, in his future, and it all came pouring out- through the extension of his arms to the flick of the jeté. He felt himself flow like a furious ocean. And then he wasn’t free-styling any more, but performing the routine. Those twenty seconds felt so short, but so long at the same time. He felt himself come together as a whole, on stage, in front of Harry and Merlin, and he could feel Harry’s eyes on him, and he hoped that when he looked up they wouldn’t be so disappointed. 

When he stopped, he wasn’t out of breath. He wasn’t quivering, or holding himself together. He was more together than he’d felt in years, as if somehow he’d managed to calm the storm before it had fully begun. His breath was steady. He felt his chest rise and fall naturally. He could feel the air pass through him and out again. He was back in his body again.

He could do this, and he could feel it. 

When he looked up again, Merlin and Harry were sharing another look. Eggsy watched Harry, suddenly nowhere near as overwhelmed as he was before. His eyes showed no disappointment. They were all determination, like they were during his lessons.

“Thank you Eggsy,” Harry said calmly. “I will see you tomorrow morning for practice, if you can still come.”

A broad smile caught his face before Eggsy could stop it. “Yeh. See you then, Harry.”

When he walked off stage, the two judges completely silent as they watched him leave, he felt strong. He felt good. He felt ready.

 

When he got back home, he felt fucking _high_. He grabbed a pint with Ryan and Jamal, even got to sit outside in the sun. They hadn’t had a chance to hang out since Harry had first approached him in the park, and there was so much to catch up on that when he got back to the flat, it was tea time. Michelle was feeding Daisy in the kitchen, and Eggsy laughed when he saw the spaghetti hoops all over her face. 

“Hello, love,” Michelle said, trying to wipe a teary looking Daisy’s face. 

“Hiya, mum. Hello Dais. Oh my days, what you got all over your face? How’s that happened, then?” he grinned at her. She still looked like she was on the verge of tears. 

“Oh, she prefers her food all over her face, and mummy’s face, don’ she?” Michelle said, stroking the little girls blonde hair. “Long day, darlin’?”

“Yeah, don’t stop here, either. Goin’ out tonight,” Eggsy said, chucking his backpack in the corner. 

Michelle didn’t say anything at first, only continued to wipe Daisy’s face. Eggsy helped himself to the left over spaghetti hoops. 

“Night out with the boys?” 

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, greedily slurping away at the spaghetti hoops, hoping it was enough to put the conversation to an end. 

Michelle spooned the rest of Daisy’s tea onto the plastic spoon, coaxing her into another bite. Daisy allowed it, just this once, cooperating enough to eat the contents of the spoon. Michelle made a ‘mmmm’ noise, and Daisy smiled. 

“When you was a baby, I used to get your auntie Dianne to watch over you in the evenings- not that you’ll remember much of Di,” she began, and Eggsy paused. It wasn’t often she spoke of life before Dean, after dad had died. “We needed money, you and I. So I used to work nights.”

Eggsy’s stomach churned. His spoon was hovering between his mouth and the pan he was eating from. “Mum-”

“I know what it looks like, darlin’. I know cause I’ve done it myself. Thing is, love, you think you don’t have a choice, but you do. You’re a clever boy, you did your GCSEs.”

“Mum,” Eggsy said, rolling his head so it ended up hanging sadly. He stared at the red gloop in the pan. “Mum, you know it ain’t that easy to get a job round here. I got to.”

“Babes,” Michelle moaned desperately. “You don’t. I don’t like knowin’ you’re doin’ those sort of things. Takin’ your clothes off for those people.”

“It’s either this, or I start dealin’ again,” Eggsy argued.

Tension broke the conversation, and Eggsy’s good mood was gone. They both knew it was true. Nobody in the area would give Michelle a job; they knew she’d been tangled up in Dean’s business. And Eggsy- well, he was certainly clever. But he’d never had a real job other than dealing. He’d applied for other things, he’d tried- but it just wasn’t that fucking easy. 

“We ain’t got much choice right now,” Eggsy whispered. His heart froze in horror as he watched a tear fall down Michelle’s cheek. He gently wiped it away. “I won’t be there long, though. I’m… working on something.”

She blinked, sniffed, wiped her eyes. She continued to feed a quiet Daisy. Children always seemed to sense when something was wrong; poor Dais had seen enough of bad situations to know when to shut up, back when Dean had been around. 

“You finally goin’ to tell me why you’ve been out all day these past few weeks?”

Eggsy scrubbed his face. “I’m sorry. I would’ve told you the truth, ‘xcept… I was worried…”

“What is it, Eggsy?” Michelle asked more seriously now. “You ain’t in trouble, are ya? Because we can’t be dealin’ with that sort of thing right now-”

“Nah, it’s fine, I’m… it’s hard to explain…”

“Is it?” Michelle asked, unconvinced. “Or you just scared of what I’ll say?”

Eggsy’s head still hung low. The spaghetti hoops had gone cold. Michelle sighed, taking the pan and going to the sink to wash it. 

“Darlin’, so long’s you ain’t in trouble, there’s not much you can tell me that’ll upset me, yeh? I owe you this much, after all I’ve put you through,” she said, betraying the slightest wobble to her voice. Eggsy’s heart ached. “I’ve always known you’re my complicated little egg. For God’s sake, I’ve known for years that you’re gay-”

Eggsy spluttered. “Wait, wha’?”

Michelle looked at him disbelievingly. “Well you are, ain’t ya?”

“No! I mean- I think I’m bisexual, but that ain’t the point right now-”

“Bisexual? I ain’t even heard of that one-”

“Look, mum, that doesn’t matter, well, it does, but, I mean- mum,” Eggsy tried again, rubbing his eyes. “I’m dancing at the Royal Ballet School. That’s where I am every morning and afternoon.”

Michelle froze by the sink, with her back to him. The sound of a police siren blared past the window, going out of tune as it rounded the corner. 

“You’re _wha’_?” she whispered, back still turned to him.

Eggsy sighed, resting his face in his hands. “I’m dancing,” he said, though it sounded muffled through his hands. “I was performing in the park the other day with the lads, you know, a few weeks back, jus’ tryna get some change.” Michelle didn’t respond. She’d known that he was street performing. But the fact that she wasn’t even turning to look at him scared the shit out of him. Eggsy knew he couldn’t stop there, though. He took a deep breath before he continued, his voice weak. “This bloke was in the park, and he said he was a teacher at the School, so he brought me to an audition for Swan Lake the next day, and I got through. I’ve been training since.”

No one spoke for a full minute. It was only when Michelle let out a choked sob that Eggsy stood up abruptly, scraping his chair back. Daisy looked between the two of them like she was watching a tennis match. 

“Mum- I’m sorry, please, I-”

“The Royal Ballet?” she cried, turning to look at him. Eggsy held her arms, shaking his head desperately, wanting to deny it. 

“I’m sorry mum- but, I think I might be able to get a job out of it, even if I don’t get the main role- my teacher says I can do this professionally- he knows people,” he raced. “Mum- please don’t cry, I’m so sorry- God I’m sorry I fucked up-”

“No, you silly sod, I ain’t angry at you,” she laughed weakly. Eggsy blinked helplessly at her blotchy, stear stained face. “It’s… Oh Eggsy. Sit down, love. Give me a second.”

Eggsy stood by the sink helplessly as Michelle disappeared from the kitchen, bustling her way out in her pink fluffing slippers. When she came back only a moment later, she had a blue, faux-leather photo album in her hands.

“I look at this sometimes when I miss him,” she began quietly, sitting down at the table. Eggsy hesitantly sat beside her. “Keep it under my bed, now. Used to be hidden away in my cupboard, but now…” she sniffed, wiping her nose. She took a shaky breath before opening the album. “I showed you these once, when you were a little boy. Before Dean. But I keep it hidden mostly. Don’t want to upset you.”

“Mum…” Eggsy began, but his voice trailed away when he saw the photos of his dad. Of the three of them together. He hadn’t seen any real photos of him since he was little. Michelle had never wanted to see them around. But now, he supposed, things had changed. So much had changed, and he couldn’t stop staring, touching the photos of the three of them on holiday somewhere in the countryside, sitting in the garden- back when they had one- Eggsy’s second birthday. 

Michelle turned the page, and it took Eggsy a moment to realise what he was looking at. His breath hitched slightly, his eyes stinging. It was a photo of his dad. Taken before Eggsy was born, in the 1987. It was captioned, ‘Lee warming down’. He was grinning- a grin that Eggsy was all too familiar with- and stretching at the barre in a dance studio. 

“My dad…?” he tried.

“He loved to dance,” Michelle croaked, stroking the photo tenderly. “Back then, we weren’t on the estates, you know that. It weren’t quite so rough. Lee learned to dance when he was little, but didn’t tell many of his mates. Didn’t want people takin’ the piss.” She gave a small laugh. “But he danced anyway. What people thought didn’t stop him.”

Eggsy wiped his eyes, turning through the pages. There was a photo of him dancing in the same studio. Mid grand jeté. Eggsy laughed in disbelief. 

“Thought he was gay, at first,” she said. They both laughed at that. “Didn’t a think a man who danced that well could be straight. But then, that’s why he didn’t tell anyone. It was his biggest regret,” she added quietly, “not taking it seriously enough. Not pursuing it properly.”

A content silence settled upon them as they looked through the album. A lot of them were of Michelle and Lee. Occasionally baby Eggsy would appear. He always seemed to be laughing in photos. Mum had always said he had a happy disposition. 

“You’re just like him,” she whispered. Her eyes were red. “But I never thought you’d follow in his footsteps like this.”

Eggsy took his mum’s hand. “So you’re not upset?”

Michelle laughed. “Oh, Eggsy. I couldn’t be happier. I’m so, so proud of you. It ain’t been easy, living ‘ere. I’ve always known I’ve trapped you ‘ere.” When Eggsy tried to argue, she held up a hand. “I know I have. But you’re still brilliant, you are. Still doin’ all these wonderful things.” She paused. “The Royal Ballet?”

Eggsy nodded, throat closed shut, threatening to cry. Michelle wrapped an arm around him. Daisy blew a raspberry on the other side of the table. They laughed. 

“You’re brilliant, darlin’. He’d be so proud. So proud.”

Eggsy nodded, his ear pressed against his mum’s shoulder. “You know I got to keep dancin’ at the club, though.”

“Eggsy…”

“It’ll only be a bit longer. Then I’m out of there.”

“Those places are dangerous, love,” she complained, resting her head on his, but he could hear in her voice that she knew they had no other option. “I could…. I could talk to Dean…”

“Don’t even fuckin’ think about it, mum.” She hugged him closer. They let the silence stretch.

“You show ‘em, Eggsy. You show them ballet people what you got.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner.

Eggsy and Roxy always met up before class for a quick breakfast and coffee before rehearsals. Afterwards, they picked a spot at the bar beside each other. Some of the nicer members of the class would make chat with them- Hugo had come round, it turned out. Meanwhile, Charlie was still an arse, whispering conspicuously about Eggsy, and wondering loudly “why the fuck he’s still here”. It was easy to ignore him when he knew that Harry Hart was training him personally, and he’d made some decent friends amongst the candidates- meanwhile, Charlie was doing well in isolating himself as people steadily got bored of his arse-holery. 

For the past couple of weeks, every afternoon, Merlin had been taking them through the Swan Lake routine. There were now only ten of them, and in the big studio, they could form a small line and practise particular scenes one by one, going from one corner of the room to the other. Eggsy found that there were a lot of things he didn’t know that he felt the other candidates had learned years ago. But the good thing about these classes was that everyone was learning the Swan Lake routine for the first time together; Merlin was guiding them all through the moves. If Eggsy saw a particular move for the first time that day, he could at least say that everyone else there had only just learned the routine too. When Merlin showed them a move- a new move for Eggsy- he would make sure to watch closely, watch the other candidates’ attempts, and learn what he could from that before he tried himself. And it turned out that he was keeping up alright- now and then, Roxy would explain something to him after he’d fucked up, or pointed out a way he could make amends next time. Merlin didn’t always have time to teach him something he was technically already meant to know.

So when he fucked up an apparently particularly hard jump, and Roxy gave him a little constructive criticism, he was pissed off to see the others mostly do it perfectly. When it came round to his turn again, he perfected it. He knew as much because Merlin had said, “Perfect, Eggsy,” which made him fucking chuffed.

Roxy grabbed his arm. “Did you really just learn to do a cabriole? After only trying it once before that?”

Eggsy shrugged. “Yeh, I guess? That’s the one in scene four, innit?” 

“Yes, I think so,” Roxy said, blinking in disbelief. “Your bloody unbelievable.”

Eggsy grinned, feeling a little proud of himself after that. Merlin guided them through the rest of the sequence in that particular scene, the five girls on one side of the room performing Odette’s part, the men performing Siegfried’s. It was helpful for him to be able to dance at the back, to watch the other men’s performances. He could see where Charlie was over extending, or where Hugo wasn’t pointing his toes enough. He could see when one of the blokes, Arty, was landing perfectly, making mental notes to copy his technique. 

It was slowly dawning on him that he was actually pretty fucking good at this ballet thing. And he might even have a good chance, here. 

When Harry then entered the room, Eggsy noticed immediately. The man’s presence was undeniable. Sweeping in dressed in his typically well cut suit, hair swept back, glasses framing his dark eyes, Eggsy found him increasingly hard to ignore. It felt like this crush of his was harder to crush down, as such, than he’d planned. He sent the man a knowing smile. Harry returned one. These past few weeks of their daily one to one lessons had made them quite good friends, he thought. Eggsy knew just how to make Harry laugh, even though he always put on that severe appearance. And Harry was so fucking _dry_ and unpredictable- it kept Eggsy on his toes. 

They’d known each other for almost a month- seeing each other daily for three weeks straight. Of course, Harry knew virtually nothing about Eggsy’s life. He knew nothing about Dean, or the fact that he was dancing every Thursday and Friday night at a strip club. But he did know a little about Daisy. One morning, he’d come in with raspberry jam on his face, and he hadn’t even realised. The look of bafflement on Harry’s face and the realisation that he had jam on his face had left him in incomprehensible giggles for minutes. It’d even left Harry with a smile on his face. They’d spoken about Daisy for a little bit as they stretched- how old she was, the fact that jam on toast was her favourite food at the moment, and pretty much the only thing she’d eat, if she wasn’t throwing it at Eggsy’s face. The next day, Harry had brought in a well loved, quite battered children’s book about ballet. He’d said it’d been his as a child and needed a new home. Eggsy hadn’t known what to say. 

After his conversation with his mum, Michelle had become open and excited about Eggsy’s dancing career. When he’d brought that book home, explaining that his teacher had brought it in for Daisy, she’d looked at him with an expression he couldn’t read. 

On the flip-side, Eggsy knew he knew virtually nothing about Harry Hart and his life. But what he did know was that he made a mean martini (which he’d made Harry promise he’d make for him one day), he had been to America (and didn’t like it very much), and the smell of his aftershave. 

Eggsy knew the smell of that aftershave very well. 

It was all making it very hard for him to not fall him hard and fast. In fact, he thought maybe he’d plummeted right past the appropriate feelings for his teacher after day two. He hadn’t really stopped falling since. Whilst that was wildly disorientating, going home at night and craving more time with Harry Hart- despite having spent all day with him- it was also one of the things making him smile these days. Harry was the last person he thought of when he went to sleep. The first person he thought of when he woke up. 

Was that normal? Probably not. This crush was getting wildly out of hand, and he wasn’t really thinking about it too hard. He knew the moment he gave it a real moment’s thought, he’d probably realise that being here wasn’t a good idea. 

He’d tried so hard to ignore the crush, too. He honestly, truly thought he’d been doing well. But now, as he smiled at Harry across the room, feeling his chest warming at the man’s responding smile, he knew that he’d been an idiot. They hadn’t been making friends this whole time. Eggsy hadn’t been avoiding the crush. By talking about Daisy, martinis, and raspberry jam, he’d actually made it worse. A lot, lot worse. And it was only now that he realised how deep a hole he’d dug himself. He really thought he’d been doing _so well_ to avoid this- it was almost funny in hindsight, if it weren’t also incredibly terrifying. 

He couldn’t keep this up. He couldn’t be here and fancy his dance teacher. This was wrong on so many levels, how could he have let himself get into such a fucking mess? How could he have not seen it happening?

This wasn’t the time, or the place, Eggsy knew. So he decided to turn to Roxy and say something typically rude and comical, to try and bring himself back to reality, when he noticed her expression. Her eyebrows were at her hairline, her mouth a little open in surprise. Her eyes flitted between Harry and Eggsy, and when the penny dropped, Eggsy shook his head desperately.

“Oh- no, no, not what you think.”

“Eggsy, he practically _winked_ at you, that was the most flirtatious smile I’ve ever _seen_ , are you-?”

“No! No,” he whispered harshly, keeping his eyes trained on Merlin since they were meant to be listening to him right now. “No, it’s nothing, look- I’ll chat to you after class, yeh?”

“That didn’t look like nothing,” she replied quietly, looking at Merlin studiously. 

“Good afternoon, everybody,” Harry announced. God, he was really handsome. He had such perfectly sculpted features, and his suit fitted him so well. How could he have got himself in so deep? This was wrong, so fucking wrong and dangerous. 

“Merlin and I have a small announcement.”

“Harry and I will be choosing our top 4 next week. Audition two will be next Wednesday afternoon, at the normal time.”

The room buzzed with a quiet murmuring for a moment. Eggsy and Roxy only needed to look at each other to convey their feelings. _Fuck._

“You will be required to perform on stage, before Harry and I, to your own choreography and music. This will be a test of creativity and emotion; we’ve seen you can master the moves. Now we want to see you act.”

Eggsy’s throat went dry. Technically, this should be right up his street. Instead, he was shitting himself. Because Harry and Merlin knew as well as he did that if he didn’t pass this with flying colours, there wasn’t any point in him being here. Harry had recruited him because of his passion. That was why he was here. If he didn’t live up to expectations, then everything was fucking pointless. This was so much more than a Swan Lake audition. If he wasn’t passionate enough to get through, then the only thing Eggsy had- drive, determination- the only thing that had got him this far wasn’t enough. Would never be enough.

He swallowed, keeping his gaze firm on Merlin and trying to avoid Harry’s- who he could tell was looking at him, thinking of him specifically, the wanker. 

“The routine must be between two and half minutes, and three minutes. Nothing over, nothing under,” Merlin continued. 

“We’ve seen some good work these past few weeks. If you make the top four, you will be asked to couple up and perform in front of Arthur, who will help us choose the final two.”

Silent anticipation settled upon the candidates, who were standing up straight in rows. Suddenly, he felt like he was in the marines again.

“We look forward to your performances. Start warming down, and see you all tomorrow afternoon.”

Merlin said it with such simple efficiency that it sounded easy. And yet everyone looked at each other with the realisation that this time next week, there would only be four of them left. Eggsy decided it was better to warm down in the fucking changing room than deal with Charlie’s snarky comments, so he picked up his phone and water bottle in the corner, making his way to leave.

“Eggsy,” Roxy hopped to his side, her pony-tail swinging with her movement. “You need to fill me in. I feel like you’ve been holding back on me?”

Ah, Roxy. One of the best friends he’d ever had. She deserved to know why he’d been a soppy wanker these past few weeks. Then again, she’d only known him that long. Maybe she thought he was always this fucking in love. 

As if he’d ever felt like this about anyone, he thought, as he caught sight of Harry talking to Merlin at the back of the room. Harry looked at him quickly before continuing their conversation, and Eggsy couldn’t help but think they were talking about him.

“Yeh, we should get a pint after this. Meet you in twenty at the entrance?”

“It’s a date,” she said, her gaze settling on something behind him, over his shoulder. She pursed her lips, as if to hide a smile. “Although, you might want to reschedule- you might have another date on your hands.”

Eggsy cocked his head in confusion, before turning round to see Harry standing in front of him.

“Eggsy,” Harry said, his head slightly tilted in that way that was so Harry Hart. As if he was always considering something, always trying to read Eggsy. It made him feel simultaneously on the spot, and special. Which was ridiculous. Harry had taught endless students. He wasn’t anything special. 

“Hiya,” he said with his usual confidence, even though his mind was reeling with the concept that he really couldn’t hide this building infatuation for his teacher. It was so inappropriate that a part of Eggsy was telling him to quit now, go home, stop before he did anything else stupid, he wasn’t meant to be here anyway.

The two of them left the studio together- Eggsy gesticulating at Roxy to the entrance of the building to make sure they were still going to meet there. Roxy smiled cheekily. Little fucker.

“Do you have any dinner plans?” Harry asked, and he thought he must have misheard.

“Sorry?” he asked.

“Have you any dinner plans? I was thinking perhaps we could do with a proper discussion about your progress these past few weeks. There’s an excellent restaurant here in Covent Garden which offers perfect food for those keeping to a dancer’s diet.” He said it so coolly, as if he wasn’t just asking him out to dinner with the other candidates filing past him. 

His hesitation must have been obvious. “Never mind. If you’re too busy-”

“No- yeh- no, I’m free,” he fumbled. He looked around, desperately trying to avoid looking at Harry. He couldn’t look at him, he couldn’t slip up and make his feelings obvious. And yet he felt like he was making himself even more conspicuous by awkwardly avoiding eye contact. 

“Excellent,” he said, turning to leave. “ I’ll meet you at Farmstand at 7:30. It’s on Drury Lane.”

“Aight,” he said weakly, watching Harry leave the building elegantly in his suit. It was only when he disappeared out of sight that Eggsy realised he’d been standing on the spot, blinking stupidly at the man’s receding silhouette. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, hoping no one noticed, and slipped into the changing room to stretch and get ready to have a long, long chat with Roxy before dinner.

 

Harry only hopes that Eggsy doesn’t notice how much he’s looking at him.

There’s very little that Harry can conjure up in mind right now that can compare with the man’s beauty. He seems relaxed, happy and hopeful in a way Harry hadn’t seen in him before. And yet this is enough of a new situation for Eggsy that there’s a little tension in his sharp jaw, his eyes betraying the slightest amount of anxiety along with the excitement of the new surroundings. He’s sitting with his elbows on the table, then readjusts suddenly, as if realising that this behaviour wasn’t proper etiquette. He’s sitting back in his seat. Then he’s fidgeting again, smoothing down his shirt, looking around the room a little nervously. It’s so endearing a sight that Harry has to concentrate hard on straightening his cutlery so as not to stare. 

“This place is _lush_ ,” Eggsy said with an unrestrained grin. Harry could now no longer deny that he is falling very hard for Eggsy Unwin. 

And he had the slightest suspicion that, perhaps, his feelings weren’t unrequited.

Of course, Merlin had been right. He had pointed out, quite astutely, that he was attracted to Eggsy. He’d been quite determined to ignore it, but after his performance yesterday- the way he came face to face with his feelings, right before him, one stage- he knew he couldn’t deny it any longer. He was invested. Seriously invested. And then there was their practice session that morning.

_Eggsy is showing Harry a fouette, and he can’t quite believe he’s mastered one so quickly. He is a changed dancer. Something changed on that stage. He knows he’s meant to be here, now. He doesn’t just move with grace and emotion, now, but also confidence. He’s harnessing his feelings, like Harry had told him from the start._

_Eggsy performs the prince’s routine, and Harry is astounded by the improvement. Where Eggsy has always been passionate- that’s why he’s there, after all- there has always been something holding him back. He’s always been seeking a challenge, an excuse to be sent home packing. Now there is no defiance in those eyes, only the emotion of the dance. He knows he’s meant to be here, now, Harry can see._

_He’s growing. And it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. He lands a perfect grand jeté, curving in on himself as he meets the studio floor, that scar on his shoulder and the hollow of his collar bone showing. He is strong as he moves across the room, dancing en pointe as if he has been training for years. When he finished the sequence, he stops and looks at Harry expectantly, waiting for criticism and feedback- his shoulders are relaxed, sloping beautifully. His eyes are warm and hopeful, no glimpse of defensiveness or anger. His waist slender, his hips jutting out to one side as he stands with his weight on his right leg, waiting for Harry to say something._

_He finds himself speechless. Merlin was right._

It’d been three weeks since he met Eggsy, and Harry couldn’t remember falling for someone so quickly, yet without Harry even noticing. He’d been a fool not to see it, to ignore it. But there was a large part of him that knew taking him out to dinner wasn’t a good idea. Because, whilst for all intents and purposes, this was a sort of three-week evaluation of Eggsy’s progress, Harry knew that he’d secretly asked Eggsy out as a date. And that was bad. Dangerous. Eggsy trusted him now- it had taken him so long to leave that defiance behind, leave it wherever he’d come from, whatever those circumstances were. And now, Harry, aged 53, was taking Eggsy, 23, to dinner. It was selfish, really, reckless, and he knew it. He knew it when he saw that nervous admiration in Eggsy’s eyes as he looked about the Covent Garden restaurant. 

It was completely irresponsible, in fact. If something were to happen between them whilst Eggsy was training for the Swan Lake role, his integrity would be thrown into doubt. Did he sleep his way up the ranks, people would ask. And even if that weren’t the case, Harry was his teacher. He was responsible for him, there to train him. Eggsy trusted him. And yet here he was, a lecherous old man, taking out his student to dinner- that he didn’t realise was a date. It was so hugely irresponsible that Harry felt his brain warring with itself in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

That didn’t mean it stopped him from bringing him here. While this really couldn’t last, while whatever this was really couldn’t work, Harry felt that Eggsy felt similarly towards him. When he entered the room, he felt Eggsy’s eyes on him. The man would send him furtive smiles. He blushed when Harry touched him, to correct his posture or position- though he doubted Eggsy knew he did such a thing. 

Yes. As much as he could scarcely believe it, these feelings didn’t seem unrequited. But that didn’t make it any less wrong. 

Pushing those thoughts aside for a later date, Harry poured Eggsy a glass of water. “How are you finding the routine?” he asked casually.

Eggsy shrugged, leaning forward again to meet Harry’s conversation. “Yeah, it’s going well, I think. Merlin took us through act three today.”

“Ah,” Harry said, recognising this as the famous 32 fouette scene. 

“Yeah, it went well, I think. Roxy’s blowing the rest of the girls out of the water.”

Harry nodded, carefully avoiding any impression that he and Merlin felt the same. By this point, they were both set on her playing Odette, not that he could tell Eggsy as much. “And you? How do you feel you compare to the other male dancers?”

Eggsy’s lips pursed, a small twitch that betrayed a moment of uncertainty. He gathered himself, his brow furrowing slightly as he really thought about Harry’s question. “I think… I have as good a chance as any.”

Harry smiled. “You seem to feel more confident in yourself, after the second audition.” Eggsy shrugged again, fiddling with the salad fork before him- suddenly evoking images of Pretty Woman. “It’s been a pleasure to watch you grow these past few weeks, Eggsy.”

Eggsy looked up at him then, mouth opening to find something to say. He appeared to think better of it, looking away, his sharp facial features tightening and tensing. 

“Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. So. Thanks. An’ that.”

He took a sip of wine. “You’re welcome. Ah-ah- no, none for you, I’m afraid,” he says, as Eggsy went to pour himself some. “No drinking, not whilst you’re training or performing.”

“You’re fucking joking,” Eggsy said bluntly. 

“I’m afraid not.” Harry took another sip, knowing how much it would aggravate Eggsy. 

“You fuckin’ wanker,” he said putting down the carafe. “I ain’t even allowed any?”

“The unfortunate reality of becoming a professional dancer,” Harry sighed in mock regret. 

“What next, then?” Eggsy demanded, clearly enjoying the banter they had going. “No meat? No sex?”

Harry delicately put down his wine glass. “Meat- fine. Sex- fine, so long as it’s nothing dangerous.”

Eggsy almost spat out his water at that, covering his mouth and laughing with his eyes. He gulped down with effort. “Fuckin’ hell Harry. Anything else I know, so I don’t choke to death?”

The feeling of smugness at making Eggsy quite so flustered had him buzzing with various witty responses, but instead, he thought it more sensible to keep the conversation professional. After all, he had already shot himself in the foot by taking him out to dinner. No need in making getting over him harder by flirting with him.

“No late nights. No caffeine. Of course, these are only guidelines, but they do help, if followed.”

“Right,” Eggsy said unenthusiastically, as the waiter brought over sharing olives. They spoke about normal things. What had been happening in the news. How long he and Merlin had been teaching, how long they’d known each other. What it was like dancing back in the 80s. Music tastes. It was hard to accept just how well they got on, and how easily Harry forgot about their various differences- age, circumstance, lifestyle. 

“It’s been well fun, dancing every day like this. But fucking knackering.”

“Well. If you want to be do this professionally, it’s something to get used to.”

Eggsy scraped his empty with his fork, having eaten dinner inordinately quickly. “You really think I can do this? Professionally? Like, actually make a job out of dancing?”

“Absolutely,” Harry answered instantly. It was an easy question to answer. “Even if you don’t get the main role- which I sincerely hope you do- then this is only the start of your career, Eggsy.”

Eggsy looked at him, eyes peering up at him through lashes. Bashful- unused to praise. He dangled his fork between his thumb and finger, watching it sway gently like a pendant. 

“As I’ve said, even in these few weeks, you’ve improved greatly. And especially since your second audition. You’re more confident. Something has changed, hasn’t it?” He looked into his wine glass as he asked this, his fingers slowly turning the glass around by the stem. When his gaze returned to Eggsy’s face, whatever discomfort he had for being complimented so openly had evaporated, as he was now sitting up straighter, his shoulders back, no longer hunched over his empty plate.

“Yeah. I know I’m in the right place. Not just an intruder.”

“I’ve tried to tell you as much since day one,” Harry chided gently. 

“Yeah, well,” Eggsy smiled, looking away coyly, if Harry can believe it. He fiddled with the sleeve of his Addidas jacket, his sharp facial features soft with thought. “I’ve been told I have selective hearing.”

Harry huffed in laughter, swirling the wine glass carefully in his hand. He felt so relaxed, talking to the boy. “I’ve been told similarly.”

Eggsy dipped his head as he laughed. “I found out that my dad was a ballet dancer.” Harry’s eyebrows raised slightly. “I didn’t know till the other day, when I told mum. She didn’t know where I’d been disappearing to all day. When I told her… she showed me all these photos of him in the studio.”

Harry’s hand stilled as he watched Eggsy show this rare moment of vulnerability. He had so many questions. 

“Where is your father now?” he asked.

“Died, when I was little,” Eggsy said, not looking at him, staring at the candle fluttering between them. “He was peacekeeping, at the end of the Cold War. Never came back.” Eggsy sniffed. “All went downhill from there really. Ain’t gonna tell you my whole tragic backstory, though,” he said, recovering a little and looking at Harry again.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said sincerely. “I’m sure your father would be proud.”

Eggsy pouted, trying to hold back an emotional response. “Yeah,” he said simply.

Harry wondered if Eggsy had ever had a stepfather. If he’d always lived on the estates, where his baby sister Daisy came into play. He struggled to imagine a life without a father figure, having been brought up by one of the sternest ones imaginable. His mother hadn’t been much better. It was a very particular kind of mother who would force her three-year-old child into ballet to live through them vicariously, after all. Harry and Eggsy’s lives were so different. Yet another reason why he should put away the idea of ‘them’ instantly. 

And yet, as the boy perused through the pudding menu before him, swearing that he’d never skip pudding regardless of what a ballet dancer ought or oughtn’t eat whilst in training, Harry could only wonder- was this only attraction? 

Or was he already in too deep?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry discovers an aspect of Eggsy's life that he didn't expect.

In between everything- practising the Swan Lake routine and dancing at the club, Eggsy was coming up with his own routine for the next audition. He’d chosen the song, come up with a few ideas that he hoped would blow Merlin and Harry away. Eggsy and Roxy had been practising together more and more now, not only bouncing around ideas for their personal routines, but actually performing Odette and Siegfried’s roles with each other. It was nice to be able to actually dance with someone, and Eggsy found Roxy’s enthusiasm encouraging when it came to his personal routine. She was practically bouncing when he’d put his chosen song on and showed her a few of his ideas. Rox was convinced he was going to ace it, even if he was optimistic at best. He hadn’t exactly chosen the most traditional music, but he hoped his routine would show them how good he could be.

Harry’s lessons had become… weird. Their banter was strained. Harry was suddenly stern, restrained. Part of Eggsy wished they could just relax, go out to dinner, chat like they had done the past couple of months. But Harry’s new awkwardness was probably a blessing in disguise. It kept Eggsy at arm’s reach- not that it kept him from hurtling further into this infatuation he had for Harry. No; he still daydreamed. Still thought of him daily. Imagined him touching him in a context that wasn’t in a dance studio, correcting his form. Imagined dancing for him in ways that would definitely not be appropriate in the School.

Eggsy would dance for Harry every morning, feeling his serious gaze on him as he moved. He could sense him holding something back, his witty remarks kept to himself, even his physical behaviour more stiff. It was better this way, Eggsy reminded himself, but God, he felt wanted to make that rigid façade melt away. He wanted to kiss him, tear away the stoic, gentlemanly veneer and make him laugh, moan… dare he say, love. Eggsy knew he was hiding something and the hopeful voice in his head said that maybe it was because Harry liked him. Harry had feelings for him and was holding back to give Eggsy a chance to make a career out of this. And the more he allowed himself to think about it, the more he noticed the way Harry would smile at him, start to make a joke with him, before biting back the banter, settling back into a strained silence. The more he considered it, the more he thought that it was likely- that Harry Hart liked him, and didn’t want to ruin what they’d created. 

Eggsy remembered what Harry had said at the beginning of their sessions, that his own internal conflict had made him a better dancer. So as he danced, moving with every ounce of passion he had, he danced knowing that it made it harder for Harry to hold back. He danced hoping he made Harry weak. Hoping the way he flexed his body made Harry’s feelings that bit stronger, that bit more confused. 

He’d look at him when he danced. Look into his eyes, determined, fierce, feeling. Chest rising and falling, breath coming fast from the exercise. Sweat dripping from his brow. Harry wasn’t showing that he felt anything as he leaned against the barre in his suit, keeping everything at bay, jaw stern and tight, no longer betraying that small, soft smile he had. But his eyes betrayed that glimmer of amusement and affection that Eggsy recognised now. Eggsy wanted to strip him. One layer at a time. He wanted to make Harry love, make Harry happy. God, he wanted to be the one to make him feel those things. He wanted to set him free from whatever was holding him back. Let him know that he wanted him. God, he’d wanted him from the start, for better or for worse. 

When he danced, this was what he conveyed with every movement. I can make you feel good, Harry Hart. Let go. Love me. Eggsy had given up wondering how deep this crush went. Two months down the line and he still felt the same way- stronger, in fact. He’d tried to ignore it. He’d tried to be the good little student who didn’t try to fuck his teacher. Consequences be damned; he could at least show him how he felt. 

He was pretty damn certain his routine would do just that.

 

One particular Saturday afternoon at training ruined it all. 

His routine was going great. He was going to meet Rox for a drink later and tell her everything about his feelings for Harry- because by this point, it was impossible to ignore, increasingly likely to make him do something stupid, and probably very obvious to Roxy anyway. 

“So, this person, that you like,” Roxy began as she stretched alongside him. “This mysterious stranger I don’t know.”

“Yep.”

“Does his name begin with H?”

“Fuckin’ hell, Rox,” Eggsy moaned. Her face didn’t betray any amusement. “Save it for later, yeh?” 

She shrugged, her expression serious and giving nothing away to the people around them. They’d never know they were gossiping- she was a good actor, and he was grateful for that.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully,” she said. “I don’t think anyone else gives a shit though, if I’m honest, lovely. Everyone’s too focused on the Swan Lake roles.”

That was both comforting and true. 

“Too much shit goin’ on in my life for this to be an issue,” Eggsy muttered, bending his leg so he pulled his foot to the back of his head. “Surprised I fuckin’ have time for fancyin’ anyone.”

“Well. Mysterious person, by name of ‘H’, is pretty distracting. And judging by the way he ogled you when he walked into the room last week, I’d say he’d pretty distracted by you, too.”

Eggsy sighed. “Don’t even joke, Rox. He’s way out of my fuckin’ league.”

Roxy stopped stretching, laying a hand on Eggsy’s arm. She looked at him sincerely, twisting her mouth into a pout. “Do you really think that?”

Eggsy looked around, hoping no one was listening. “I mean- yeh. He is, Rox. He’s not only older and more… somethin’ than me. He’s fuckin’ beautiful. James Bond kind of hot.”

Roxy was about to reply, when she turned her head, eyes narrowing. “Look who’s coming over. We’ll chat later.”

Eggsy looked to see what she was looking at. Charlie, sauntering over with a smug grin that made Eggsy’s insides shrivel up. This only meant something bad. God, what if he’d heard?

“Oi, Eggy. Great performance yesterday.”

While everyone turned to look at them, Roxy standing defensively in front of him, Eggsy’s blood ran cold. “Thanks,” he said, hoping Charlie was referring to his brilliant plié the day before. 

“Really know your way around a pole, don’t you? Good thing I went along with to mate’s birthday party to that club, fucking poof he is,” he said loudly, looking around at the audience he’d gathered. “Wasn’t expecting to see _you_ , fucking the stage for cash.”

That was when Harry and Merlin came in, only taking a few steps in before freezing, Merlin holding his clip board to his chest, mouth twisted in anger. Harry looked cold. Eggsy thought he was going to throw up, there and then. His skin felt itchy, breathing unnatural as he felt everyone’s eyes on him; Roxy looking up at him with big, wide, eyes; Charlie smirking, eyes gleaming with fucking joy; Merlin’s face taut; Harry staring at him, looking him up and down. 

He’d never felt so disgusting. 

“Bet a pole’s not the only thing you know your way around, eh?” Charlie taunted.

“Shut up, Charlie,” Roxy said. Eggsy didn’t know what he must look like right now. He couldn’t speak, through shame. He’d vowed he’d never let a man like Charlie make him feel like this. Like he should disappear, forever.

“How much do they give you for your little dances, Eggsy? How much do you get for taking your clothes off?” Charlie sneered, but now some of the other dancers were pulling him back. 

“Charlie,” Merlin barked, loud enough to make some of the candidates jump. Eggsy’s eyes were trained at his feet. “Get out. Now.”

Eggsy didn’t look up to see his no doubt furious expression. “But-”

“Now,” Merlin ordered. There was a moment’s hesitation before he heard Charlie storm out, felt Roxy’s hand on his arm. He tore it away.

“Eggsy,” she whispered. He kept his head ducked, making his way to the door without looking up.

“Eggsy-” Harry began. 

Harry. God, what Harry must think of him. 

And it had been going so well. Flying into the changing room, he didn’t look at Charlie when he shouted his name through gritted teeth, spitting at him, he didn’t stop when he felt the man’s grip on his arm. He kept walking, thrusting on his tracksuit bottoms and trainers in the hallway, powering through the School exit. He walked until he got to Holborn park, collapsing on a bench and letting the sting in his eyes well into tears.

Those nights at the club had come to bite him in the arse, then. That temporary job had ruined it all. This was the end of his professional dancing career, his friendship with Roxy. Whatever respect Harry held for him.

His future. It was all over.

 

He worked that night.

That Friday night was busy, as usual. Eggsy was glad not to be able to see any of the stranger’s faces when he danced on stage- even if that meant he didn’t recognise certain tossers from the Royal Ballet. He liked the way the lights dazzled him, painful in their brightness and the occasional strobe affect. His hands were calloused. The friction of the bar didn’t bother him anymore. He didn’t feel anything when he let the audience slip notes into his underwear. He didn’t shiver when he felt their fingers on his hips. He liked the nausea. He enjoyed the pain.

He’d grown used to it- as depressing as that seemed. How much had he become desensitized to, he wondered as he left the stage, the cheers and catcalls leaving him hollow. But now, after that afternoon with Charlie, all of a sudden he can’t face any of it, all over again. It was sickening and sad and necessary. This was his future, now. Drug dealing, stripping Eggsy. 

Slipping off stage and down the narrow staircase, to the dressing rooms, Eggsy pushed aside the bead curtain to find two of the other guys splayed lazily on the sofa at the back of the room. One of them, Matt, was on his phone, wearing a silk dressing gown and eyes glazed over as he stared at the screen in boredom. Rob looked like he was playing dead, or trying to sleep, head lolling back and eyes closed though he was clearly awake. His legs were draped over Matt’s, his naked chest rising and falling slowly.

“Aight,” Eggsy said. Rob nodded his head faintly, Matt didn’t respond. He slumped into a chair, noticing his reflection in the mirror in front of him, but studiously ignoring it. He couldn’t bare looking at his sweaty, filthy body. He picked up his phone, ignoring the sickening shame that was rising up throughout him. Everyone knew now. Everyone knew that he stripped and danced for money. Merlin, Roxy- Harry. 

He could never go back, after that. It had been a long time coming- that was the only thing keeping him going now. This dream of his was never going to last. He opened the messages he’d got from Roxy that afternoon, after what had happened at the studio.

_Hello, sweetie. I just wanted to let you know that, if what Charlie said is true, I still love you to bits. Don’t let a silly fucker like that make you feel ashamed. You just keep doing what you’ve got to do and I’m here for you if you need me. xxxx_

Eggsy had read it a couple of hours ago, but had no idea how to reply. What did he do to deserve such a good friend? And did she really mean it?

He laid his head on the dressing table and closed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes he felt groggy and even more awful than before. Rob and Matt had gone. He dragged his chair backwards, thinking how disappointed his mum would be, too, stumbling and grabbing the back of the chair and a wave of nausea hit him. Panic attack. He was so light-headed he could barely make it to the bathroom in time before throwing up, falling to his bare knees and gripping the toilet seat, knuckles white.

Listening to himself retch, tasting the tang in his mouth, smelling his own misery and shame, he sat there for God knows how long. When he opened the door, wiping his clammy face, he looked up to find someone in his dressing table chair. 

“Harry?” 

The man looked at him through the reflection in the mirror. The light bulbs surrounding it made his glasses gleam, hiding most of his eyes. He was wearing a cardigan. Nowhere near as stern as usual. And he was sitting in the strip club dressing room.

“The fuck are you doin’ ‘ere?” Eggsy growled, grabbing a towel off the back of the sofa and washing his face. He was barely aware that he was still only wearing a tiny pair of pants, but grabbed the nearest dressing gown anyway. He wrapped it round himself, staring at Harry’s reflection- his well combed hair and smart features entirely out of place in this shit hole of a club. 

“I came to find you,” he said simply. “Although it took me a while to find the club you worked at. I asked for an Eggsy Unwin at three others before I got here.”

“Don’ answer my question, does it,” Eggsy said. He swallowed, throat raw from throwing up. “Why you ‘ere?”

Harry turned in his chair to look at him properly, before standing up and sliding his hands in his pockets. “You still have a place at the Royal Ballet School, Eggsy. You don’t have to be here. Let me take you home.”

An unbridled joy ran through his chest at those words, but there was also unadulterated anger, defiance. “You fuckin’ prick. You posh fuckin’ prick.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh?” he said casually. “Here I thought I was bringing you good news, suggesting I take you out of this god forsaken place.”

“I don’t have to be here?” he spat, the two men standing opposite each other in the changing room. Eggsy turned round, shaking his head, finding a clean mug to pour himself some water and wash down the bile. If he was going to talk to him, if he was going to stay angry- which he had a fucking right to be- he couldn’t look at him. The longer he looked at him the more he wanted to cry and ask him to take him back, save him. “You don’t know shit, Harry. I don’t have much fuckin’ choice. That scholarship… was fuckin’ brilliant. And I’m grateful, but it was never goin’ to be enough to keep me an’ my family going. So, yeh, I have got to be ‘ere. You fuckin’ entitled twat.”

“Eggsy,” Harry said reasonably. “You’re better than this.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Eggsy barked, back turned to him, gripping the edge of the sink with one hand and down water with the other. He slammed the mug on the counter. “It ain’t like I want to be ‘ere. But I don’t got a choice, yeh? We need money, and job’s ain’t easy to come by for guys like me. So I’m taking my clothes off for money. I ain’t proud of it, but I ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of either, you fuckin’ hear?”

“I can help you,” Harry growled, and Eggsy couldn’t believe how much he didn’t understand. “I can pay you, for God’s sake, you don’t have to _degrade_ yourself like this-”

“You ain’t my knight in shining fuckin’ armour, Harry!” Eggsy shouted, spinning round to look at him now. Harry looked hurt. Hurt, eyes shining with some emotion he didn’t recognise. “You ain’t saving me from some ‘degrading’, fucking- Jesus, you don’t just get to swan in and tell me how to live my life! You don’t know what it’s like, Harry- to have to do anything, _anything_ to make ends meet, because if you don’t, you and your baby sister and mum are gonna be on the streets- you don’t know _shit_ ,” he shouted, storming towards Harry.

“Eggsy,” Harry tried, but Eggsy interrupted. 

“No! Don’t fucking tell me you know what’s best for me- I barely fucking know you,” he said, and his stomach twisted in guilt. “You don’t get to pick up some chav on the street and make him dance, then act surprised when he’s a fuckin’ stripper, yeh? You don’t get to teach him how to be a gentleman, pull that My Fair Lady shit, and not accept where I come from- you don’t know shit about me- you don’t know _shit_ -”

“Eggsy,” Harry said, laying a hand on his arm, but he couldn’t see his face through the tears he was blinking away.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” he sobbed. “You don’t get to do this, you can’t be here. I ain’t for you, I ain’t worth your time-”

“Eggsy, don’t-”

Eggsy pushed him away weakly. “You don’t know, Harry, you can’t just- you don’t know-”

That was when he felt Harry pull him into a hug, his arms crushing him to his chest, the smell of his aftershave overwhelming him, and Eggsy couldn’t hold back the choking sobs. His fists were balled up to Harry’s chest, his tears staining his cardigan, his shivering breaths being held still by Harry’s arms. Nose buried in Harry’s shoulder, his sobs turned into quiet, shaky breathing, the man’s arms not giving any sign of relinquishing the embrace. 

“I’m sorry, Eggsy,” Harry murmured into his ear. Eggsy closed his eyes, absorbing Harry’s warmth, thawing the shame that froze him. If only he could feel this safe, this loved forever. If only this wasn’t temporary. “I’ve been a complete prick. I hope you can forgive me.”

Eggsy shook his head weakly into Harry’s shoulder, neither man moving from the embrace. His cardigan was soft. “’S alright. Not your fault. I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”

“Eggsy,” Harry complained, squeezing tightly. “You haven’t. You couldn’t disappoint me. You don’t need to apologise to me.”

Eggsy swallowed. “I can’t go back after this.”

Harry pulled back, holding his arms as he looked down at him with dark, warm eyes. He wasn’t that stern, taciturn man Eggsy had seen this past week. His hair was falling out of place. He was softer, crows feet at the corners of his eyes creased with concern. “Why ever not?”

Eggsy laughed sadly. “I’m a fuckin’ stripper, Harry. I can’t come back from that, now everyone knows.”

Harry tilted his head. That small smile, teasing the corner of his lips. God, Eggsy hadn’t seen that in so long. He’d missed that smile so much. It made his heart do backflips. Harry was here, for him. As deluded as he had been, marching over here to drag him out of this pit, he’d done it because he cared. “Do you really think you’re the first professional dancer to have done this sort of thing?”

Eggsy blinked stupidly, lost for words- a rarity. Harry chuckled. He stroked a stray hair in Eggsy’s face back into place.

Oh God. He was in love with him.

“Let’s get out of ‘ere,” Eggsy said. Harry nodded.

“A good idea.”

Harry waited for him outside as Eggsy got changed into his normal clothes. When he met him outside, they began walking in the direction of home, shoulders bumping. The orange street lights stretched their shadows, squashed them, stretched them again as they stepped into the pools of light. Holborn was busy at this time of night- media twats coming out late from work, finding grimy places to grab a drink and forget their worries. Harry in his comfy cardigan, Eggsy in his trackies, they didn’t particularly fit in. But he felt at home, with Harry by his side.

“So…” Eggsy began, his pace slow and his hands tucked into his pockets. 

“So?” Harry prompted, looking down at him as they walked side by side. 

“So… you reckon I can come back?” 

“Of course Eggsy. Did you really think this was the end of your career? Because one particular tosser of a candidate thought he’d humiliate you?”

He shrugged.

“You are not the first ballet dancer to have done that sort of work.” Harry fell into a brief silence. “As you might imagine, many of the male dancers are of the… homosexual persuasion. When parents find out, particularly the more traditional types, then they have to find the money to fund their training somewhere else.”

He had never thought of it that way. He supposed posh parents could be the worst, sometimes. 

“Charlie took it proper personal,” he implied. 

“Quite,” Harry said. 

They stopped by a bench, both silently agreeing that this would be a long chat. Eggsy sat down, Harry following, crossing his stretched legs in front of him. 

“That’s what I mean though… if it’s the kind of place where people can’t even come out without bein’ chucked out by their parents… how can I expect to keep goin’?”

Harry sighed. There wasn’t any reply for a good minute, and Eggsy’s chest tightened with every second. Passers by didn’t give them a second look as they chanted drunkenly, talked about their day at work with their shirt sleeves rolled up. 

“Whoever thinks that the ballet scene isn’t full of poofs, they’re deluded.” Eggsy snorted, wringing a wry smile from Harry. “Dancers are nowhere near as innocent as their roles on stage might imply. However, as much as everyone knows that the man they’re practicing next to is gay, that the woman across the room is transgender… it’s a matter of don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Eggsy nodded slowly. “Well, everyone fuckin’ knows ‘bout me, now.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “And it won’t leave you, I’m afraid. You’ll have to drag this part of your life into your career. Your reputation may never be the same.”

“Brilliant.” Eggsy scrubbed his face. “So this really is the end for me? No big roles?”

Harry tilted his head from side to side in thought. “Not… necessarily. You’re still young. You’re not on stage yet. The only people who know are the people who were in that studio this morning.” He looked at him, bathed in deep orange light, casting deep shadows across his face. “One day, if you reach a certain status, your fans, the journalists, reporters- they might believe the rumours. But they’ll only be rumours.”

Eggsy looked away. “So long as I ain’t famous yet, it’s OK?”

Harry nodded slowly, his gaze suddenly distant. “This type of society… it’s full of hypocrites, Eggsy. Nobody wants to hear that you're gay, even if it's obvious. Which is why I’ve kept it largely to myself all these years. I told Merlin, of course. And my dance partners, if I trusted them enough. As I climbed the ranks, reached my peak, as such, the secret became heavier a burden to carry. I struggled a lot at that age.” Harry sniffed, his brow furrowing, as if he’d only just realised he was pouring his heart out and was now regretting it. “Well. Let’s just say I wasn’t a very happy man, even with my career being so promising.”

“And now?” Eggsy asked. Harry looked at him. “Are you a happier man now?”

“I… I don’t suppose I care as much what people think, now. It seemed to matter an awful lot, back then,” he said, frowning a little again. “The point is, Eggsy, nobody will care tomorrow.”

Eggsy stared down at his hands, which were folded limply in his lap. 

“And you’ll keep teaching me? You’re not…” He swallowed, finding he didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Suddenly, he found one of his hands being clasped by both of Harry’s. There were so many unspoken words in Harry’s gaze. 

“Of course, Eggsy. This is by no means the end of our relationship.”

It had been such a long day. It had felt like it had gone of forever, one fucking thing after another, and now, the two of them were sat on this bench in Holborn, and Eggsy found himself in a particular moment- the moment he’d been wanting for so long. Moments like these, intimate, quiet, alone, they were so rare for them even with their lessons, since anyone could walk into the studio at any time. Well, now, Harry was looking at him the way he was, dark and thoughtful and vulnerable, and Eggsy really wanted to end this day on a high note, and Harry’s leg was pressed against his and he was warm and sturdy and _there_. 

“Harry,” he said hoarsely. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Harry, I think you should know…” 

Harry’s hand found Eggsy’s cheek. His eyes fluttered shut as he leant his head into his palm, words disappearing. 

“Not today,” Harry said simply. “You need to rest.” He paused, and Eggsy looked up at him through his lashes, practically seeing his thoughts battle inside his head. 

The relief that made Eggsy feel was immense- even if he really did want to kiss him right now. Then again, he had just thrown up in a strip club toilet, so it probably wasn’t the most ideal moment to make a move. Thank fuck Harry was a gentleman, he realised, even if he wanted to snog the man’s face off himself. Harry was right; this really wasn’t the right time. God, he was exhausted, emotionally drained. 

“Take me home?” Eggsy asked. 

A small, smile crept up on Harry’s face. “Of course.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurray for the boys finally getting their heads out of their arses.

“Suddenly your choice in song is a lot more obvious.”

Roxy was waiting back stage with Eggsy. “Yeh, but what if I fuck it up? Then I’ll just be dancing to Avicii like a twat.”

“You _won’t_ be dancing to Avicii like a twat. You’ll be dancing to Avicii like the sexy ballet star you are. And I’m sure Ha- I mean, ‘H’, will love it.”

Eggsy took one of her hands in both of his and kissed it. “Your aces, Rox. You’re going to fuckin’ nail this, yeh?”

She gave him a shaky smile. Even though Roxy was obviously nervous, she still looked one hundred per cent professional, hair pulled back into a neat bun. “Thanks, Eggsy. You too. Go on then, you’re next. Nail it.” She gave him a cheeky smack on the arse as he turned to go.

The lights of the stage blinded him at first, but it only took him a few moments to adjust and find Harry and Merlin through the glare. They were sat at the front row like they had in the last audition, Merlin’s glasses reflecting the light so he had no idea what his expression really was. Probably serious and tense, as it usually was. Harry didn’t look up- he was staring intently at his phone, as if he didn’t want to look at Eggsy and jinx him. 

“Are you ready?” Merlin asked. Harry finally looked up, expression stoic, betraying nothing. All professionalism. 

“Yep. So long as you got the music?”

“We do.” Merlin turned to his laptop and spent a moment finding the song. He looked up with a little amusement. “May I ask about the song choice? It’s an unusual one.”

Eggsy had chosen Avicii’s _I Could Be the One._ “Yeah, it’s, uh… a personal favourite of mine. There’s a lot of, sort of, desperation in it, which I think I can show in my dancing?” he explained uncertainly. “You’ll see when I get goin’.” His eyes flicked to Harry, who was looking at his phone again. 

“Very well,” Merlin said, not without a little humour. God, that man must be able to read them like a book. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Eggsy nodded. Last time he was on this stage, he’d fucked up royally. Of course, he’d salvaged the audition in the end, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake as last time again. No- this audition was his. This role was his. Harry was his. 

He moved to the corner of the stage, standing in third position and waiting for the music to start. All he could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ear, his internal thoughts screaming _CALM DOWN_ until at last the music began and he stepped into the centre of the stage in time to the music, head bowed at first then looking up. 

_Do you think about me when you’re all alone? The things we used to do, we used to be…_

Eggsy let his limbs extend exquisitely, opening his body up vulnerably, and he thought back on all his training sessions with Harry, the way he could make him laugh and the way Harry watched him, touched him. His body rippled with strength as it rolled to the music, his arms and legs spelling out feelings he didn’t now how to say in words. 

_I could be the one to make you feel that way, I could be the one to set you free… ___

__His chest swells and his arms spread, he fills the stage with his presence as he falls from an arabesque and drops to his knees. This isn’t like anything Harry has ever seen- he’s counting on it. He’s counting on the way his body moves, the way his muscles sing to say it all, to tell him that-_ _

___I could be the one to make you feel that way, I could be the one to set you free ____ _

____\- and he was on his feet again in one swift, fluid movement, a sissone pas de chat taking him into a pas de cisaux, he pirouetted to the other side of the stage, allowing some room for improvisation because that was what he did best, rolling his body to the crescendo. This routine wasn’t just to show them he could dance, but that he could act, too, and so he filled the routine with moments where he moved gracefully, like a man in character rather than a performer, a dancer, and he looked at Harry before the bass dropped-_ _ _ _

____and the look in his eyes was feral, fierce, possessive, and it made his heart sing and his head pound, but if he thought this was good he should wait till he saw his grande jete- which Eggsy the showed them, just as the base dropped, pirouetting on landing and extending an arm out to his audience- to Harry- because-_ _ _ _

_____When you need a way to beat the pressure down, when you need to find a way to breathe, I could be the one to make you feel that way, I could be the one to set you free… ____ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______Harry watched him and the world fell away._ _ _ _ _ _

______When he watched him that first time in Holborn, he was captivated, enamoured with the way the boy danced. But now, as he sat in the front row of the auditorium in the Royal Ballet School, he knew that he was in love with more than just Eggsy’s dancing. He was looking directly at him, dancing _for_ him when he extended his arms towards him, tilted his chin towards him, remembered the techniques he’d taught him. Eggsy was doing what he always did, he was proving a point, and Harry was certain that he’d read Eggsy’s message correctly. He danced for him. He was speaking to him. _ _ _ _ _ _

______If the other night on that bench in Holborn was anything to judge by, Eggsy cared for Harry. They cared for each other, against their better judgement. Now Eggsy was telling him in a way that he could articulate, in a way he could express his feelings truly, that he wanted to be with him. He wanted to…_ _ _ _ _ _

_______I could be the one to make you feel that way, I could be the one to set you free… ____ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry’s heart jumped, his chest tight with anxiety and lust and love and all sorts of things he couldn’t fathom as Eggsy looked at him one more time, his beautiful body, the slope of his jawline parallel to the gradient of his arm, telling him he wanted him, that they could make each other feel the things that dancing made them feel. That no one else could make him feel. And then suddenly the song began to crescendo again and-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________My God, Harry thought, Eggsy was performing the fouette. And not just two or three in a row- he’d already turned for a full 8 seconds, his leg kicking out to maintain momentum, body moving quickly and elegantly. Merlin leant forward in his seat, apparently as awed by the progress as Harry was, amazed by the speed and strength Eggsy showed, giving fouette after fouette one after the other, and there was no sign that he was going to stop other than the imminent signal of the bass drop, and that must have been 16 fouettes in a row, better than any of the other candidates, and he did it with feeling-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And finally the bass dropped, a glissade jete, and then he was sweeping across the stage and leaping with such grace that Harry was sure his heart had stopped-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Fuck, make it end. Make it end make it end make it end_ , Eggsy screamed inside his head as he made his last jete across the stage. He was so tired, but he was so determined to see this through, show them- Harry- that he meant business, so when the end of the song came and he folded himself onto the ground- with all the grace and emotion that he’d planned- he wasn’t just acting. He really wanted to just lie on the floor, face down, staring at the black floor of the stage, listening to his fast, heavy breath, unable to find the guts to make eye contact with Harry. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The silence that ensued, Eggsy hoped, was a good one._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The moment Eggsy disappeared off stage, Harry’s thoughts flooded back into his brain. They were all focused on one thing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Perhaps a short break?” he said, already standing up without looking at Merlin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“By all means,” Merlin replied knowingly. Not that Harry had the mental presence to respond to that, as he marched, not without a touch of desperation, to the changing rooms where Eggsy no doubt was already._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He was mad. Harry knew that. He was mad for doing this, but he also wasn’t really thinking with his head- rather the arousal that had built up watching that performance. Watching the sweat on Eggsy’s brow, his chest rising and falling, the way his body _moved_ -_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Swinging the door open, he found Eggsy, alone, in the changing room. The man was shirtless, still in his tights, and had stood up straight abruptly at Harry’s loud entrance. He stood there in the doorway for a moment, surveying Eggsy’s glistening figure, his expression changing from surprise to understanding, and then he was striding towards him, taking his face in his hands and kissing him, slamming him against the locker Eggsy had just been searching for his towel. Eggsy’s hands flew up to Harry’s hair, raking it and pulling it desperately, and Harry growled possessively into his mouth, Eggsy breathless with the suddenness of it all, body arching against Harry who was flush against him, pressing him against the lockers. His leg had slipped between his and his hands were exploring his naked waist, and his lips tasted salty with sweat, sweet with youth, and-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry heard the footsteps approaching before Eggsy did, who moaned with complaint as Harry pulled away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Posh boys don’t kiss like that,” Eggsy said, lips brushing Harrys as he looked up at him, pupils blown, breath coming hard and fast. Harry leant down to whisper in his ear, mouth teasing his earlobe._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Oh, yes they fucking do.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There wasn’t any time for him to think any more about Eggsy’s growing erection against his hip. He stepped back quickly and brushed back his hair to maintain some semblance of togetherness, when the door swung open, Roxy and Hugo coming in._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Eggsy that was fucking amazing!” Roxy began, before she and Hugo surveyed Harry’s presence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Sir?” Hugo asked, while Roxy’s eyes flicked to Eggsy behind him. The girl seemed to know something- no doubt that was down to Eggsy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Just saying congratulations to all of you for your excellent performances,” he said evenly, as if he hadn’t just been ravishing their colleague against the lockers. He didn’t dare look at Eggsy as he left, after shaking Roxy and Hugo’s hands. “I’ll be seeing you all tomorrow afternoon, when we’ll be giving you the results.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Sir,” Roxy acknowledged, smirking at Eggsy over his shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Without looking back, without thinking twice, he ran up to his office. More specifically, his private office bathroom. Bi-passing his desk and the pile of paperwork he’d been avoiding, he made straight for the bathroom, locking the door behind him and leaning against it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Good God. He had never been more attracted to a single person before in his entire life. A single second of that dance routine was enough to leave him breathless. The moment Eggsy first made eye contact with him though- that sent heat straight down to his cock, which his hand was now desperately trying to free from his underwear. His head fell back against the door as he started to massage, remembering the way Eggsy moved, breathed, stared at him as he danced for him. He wasn’t prepared to make this last- much as it ashamed him, Harry had masturbated to thought of Eggsy before, and he’d drawn it out much longer than he intended to now, strokes fast and determined. Fuck, he’d fantasised about Eggsy’s dancing for weeks now, imagined slamming him against a wall in the dance studio, imagined him dancing in his lap in his office, imagined too many things, but now this had happened- Eggsy had danced for him, promising to set him free through the roll of his body, on stage, locking eyes with him as he _fell to his knees_ , sweating for him, working for him, and-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry came with a stifled sob, biting down the sound before it escaped his lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Washing up and splashing his face with cold water to kill the blush in his cheeks, he hoped Merlin wouldn’t be too scandalised by how long his ‘short break’ and become._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eggsy had gone home after the audition. After Harry had suddenly burst into the changing room and kissed him senseless._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________God, in all the ways he’d imagined Harry taking him, for some reason, that locker room scenario hadn’t crossed his mind. He was so glad he hadn’t made that move on the park bench. He _wasn’t_ glad for the raging hard on he’d got afterwards, whilst Harry ever-so-calmly smoothed his clothes and hair down, shaking hands with Roxy and Hugo as if he hadn’t just sucked the breath out of him. Jesus Christ, he’d had to have a quick wank after, just to be able to walk home properly. So, he figured, once he got home and showered, got changed, he would set out again- to Harry’s house. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry had given him his address in case of an emergency (though he’d had no idea what kind of emergency that could have been- now Eggsy realised it might have a little to do with the fact that Harry fancied him and wanted to invite him round one day). He was halfway down the cobbled Mews when he stopped in his tracks and hesitated._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Was this the right thing? What if people found out about this? That surely would ruin his career._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________This was stupid, he realised, turning to head back. But he liked Harry- fuck, he’d fallen in love with him- was he really going to turn this down after the way he’d kissed him that afternoon? No, he decided, turning back and muttering to himself. This was worth it. Even if he got chucked out. Harry was worth it. Harry wouldn’t _let_ him get chucked out. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________But what if Harry didn’t love him back? What he just wanted to fuck him? Oh God, it was too late now anyway, he figured._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________One of the lights was on upstairs in Harry’s house, so Eggsy, with confidence now, rang the doorbell. Listening to the sound of footsteps descending stairs, he steeled himself. Harry opened the door, surprise barely registering in his expression. He was wearing a red dressing gown, hair wet, slicked back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Eggsy,” he said, head cocked slightly. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eggsy stepped into the threshold, over the doorframe, so that their noses almost touched._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“D’you think I wasn’t goin’ to come? After…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“…I hoped,” Harry muttered, looking at down at him with dark, dilated eyes. His breath was warm against Eggsy’s lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“My dance worked then,” he said smugly, smiling drunkenly as he tip-toed closer into Harry’s space. Harry’s hands rested on Eggsy’s arms, his hands sliding up Harry’s chest, one hand playing with the hem of his dressing gown. He could feel his hard on pressing against his jeans as he let Harry’s lips follow the slope of his neck. The breath stuttered out of him. His skin felt raw, every move Harry made setting him on fire, even the soft brush of his lips down his neck sending his whole body tingling like a live wire. God, what was he doing, what the fuck was he doing?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“It appears so,” Harry said ever-so-gentlemanly, his voice betraying a hint of weakness. It left Eggsy’s brain thoughtless. “Don’t get too cocky just yet.” And then Harry found Eggsy’s mouth, kissing him roughly like he did earlier, and fuck, Eggsy swore he’d never underestimate posh guys again because Harry played dirty, tongue exploring unabashedly, hand holding him close at the small of his back. He gave him more access to his neck as he kissed and bit along it, slowly finding his way to his ear and whispering, “You still have a lot to learn.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eggsy liked the sound of that promise, pulling him back into a kiss, sloppy and desperate and breathy. He had no idea where he was going, no idea what was where in this place, but he thought maybe upstairs would be the sensible place to go at this point, so he pulled Harry upwards, walking backwards and dragging him by the belt of his dressing gown, tugging it loose till it fell open. And while Harry was usually all restraint and politeness, occasional sharp witticisms cutting through the veneer, there was only pure, animal heat in his eyes now as he followed Eggsy up the stairs, pressing him against the door and pushing him into another kiss, slower and more purposeful this time. Eggsy fumbled for the doorknob by his waist, forgetting to pause to breath as Harry kissed him mercilessly. Thankfully Harry did the honours, opening the door and grabbing Eggsy by the small of the back so that he didn’t fall backwards. Eggsy sucked on his lip, and the older man hummed appreciatively. A moan caught in Eggsy’s throat at the sensation, tugging on his lapels and pulling him on top of him on the bed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“We shouldn’t be doin’ this,” Eggsy managed as Harry hungrily explored his chest, pulling his shirt over his head. It wasn’t an argument, it wasn’t a complaint- more a statement of the obvious. A joke._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“We really shouldn’t.” Harry said it with about as much conviction as Eggsy had, bringing a bubble of laughter out of Eggsy. Pausing in his work of lavishing Eggsy’s chest and abs with kisses, he looked up at him, a playful look to his gaze. “Unless you’re having second thoughts?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No way,” Eggsy said. “Been thinking about this too long to…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry crawled back up his body till his lips were hovering above Eggsy’s. He shed Harry’s dressing gown, pushing it over the curve of his shoulders, and the sudden possessive look in his eyes made him shiver._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Tell me what you’ve been thinking,” Harry drawled in his ear. He teased Eggsy’s ear lobe gently between his teeth. “Tell me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“ _Fuck_ ing hell.” His nails dug into Harry’s back, between his shoulder blades. “Everything,” was what he managed. “Too much- too many things-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“All those weeks in that dance studio,” Harry growled into Eggsy’s mouth, helping him remove the rest of his clothes. “All this time, watching you dance… today was the last straw.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I wanted to break you,” Eggsy said hoarsely, melting under Harry’s weight, jutting his hips upwards and drawing a sigh out of Harry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You’ve done it,” he whispered weakly. “You’ve done it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And that made Eggsy roll him onto his back so that he was lying along him, grinding and biting his lips till they were red and swollen. “Been thinking about coming by your office for weeks…” he spoke in between breathy kisses, Harry sitting up and pulling him into his lap. “… Or dragging you into the changing rooms and fucking you senseless…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I had no idea I’d been such a poor role model for my student. For him to think such things about his teacher,” Harry said, teasing Eggsy’s hole and it made his breathing stutter because the only fingers to have explored there had been his own, till now._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Fuck,” he said, rising up on his knees a little to allow Harry to roam further, so that he was looking down at him. He buried his face in Harry’s hair, breathing him in. He wasn’t even sure at what point the man had found lube; he’d clearly done a pretty good job of distracting him. Eggsy had lost track of time, hadn’t registered the room he was in- only the heat pooling at the base of his spine that drew needy groans out of him, Harry’s soft hair on his lips, the feeling of his hand skirting over the curve of his back. Knees weakening, strength draining out of him as the pressure built, Eggsy came down to brush his lips against Harry’s ear, and suddenly he was empty. Now both of Harry’s hands were roaming Eggsy’s body hungrily- and yet with a gentle reverence that made Eggsy feel even weaker._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Before he knew it he was being rolled onto his back, his body demanding Harry’s touch again, feeling empty. He pulled Harry closer to him, grinding against him, and god hearing Harry’s breath coming out hoarse and fast by his ear, warm against his neck, his lips drunkenly planting kisses along his jaw bone- it was killing him softly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Fuck me,” he said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I intend to,” Harry replied, looking down at him as he began to lube himself- and suddenly it occurred to Eggsy what that meant and the nerves hit him in the chest. Fuck, he’d never been with a guy before, not in any context, not even kissing till now. This was all so new and different, terrifying, but he knew what he wanted. So he looked up at the man hovering above him, hair falling into his face, dishevelled in a way he’d never been able to imagine until now, and god was it beautiful- lips swollen, hair out of place, eyes dark and shining._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eggsy didn’t want Harry to see the nerves that were doubtless building in his expression so he pulled him into a kiss. It was better he didn’t know this was his first time-_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Jesus_ that hurt, though. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He couldn’t help hissing and wincing with the pain of it, and God he didn’t want to stop, he wanted to keep going. But of course, now Harry was stopping, the pain receded- he couldn’t bear to open his eyes and look at him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’m fine, I’m fine, just- don’t stop.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Obviously not- I’m hurting you. That’s not really what I was going for.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yeah, it’s fine though, just- keep going, I want to keep going.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There was no response, only the sound of their breathing. Eggsy cracked his eyes open reluctantly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Eggsy,” Harry said carefully. “Is this your first time with a man?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He turned his head to look away, huffing- not without a little petulance. “I wasn’t goin’ to tell you, yeh? I didn’t want you to be all weird about it.” Harry looked down at him, aghast. “Don’t look at me like that.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You silly fucking sod,” Harry said with amusement sparkling in his eyes. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Exactly,” Eggsy replied._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“There are plenty of other things we could do-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I want to do this,” Eggsy said, arms wrapping around Harry so that his hands pressed against his shoulder blades. “I know what I want- do you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry huffed, barely restraining from rolling his eyes. “You must tell me if I’m hurting you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’ll let you know if it gets too much.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Good,” Harry said…_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________…who couldn’t help but look down at Eggsy’s flushed face, his sharp features softened by pleasure and rough kisses, and it was such a perfect sight it almost stopped Harry in his tracks- the idea of hurting him in anyway causing a twist of anxiety in his stomach. The desperation, the rough, possessive need that had been flying between them only a few moments ago had simmered down as Harry told himself to be gentle, to lead him along- the same way he would delicately guide Eggsy’s posture in dance class, or the way he’d gently extend his hand to perfect his arabesque. When he eased himself inside he gulped down the wave of pleasure it brought, tracking the other man’s responses carefully. Eggsy looked back at him keeping eye contact, mouth open slightly, breathing irregular- shallow, then deep, then gasping. He gave a small nod of admission and Harry moved oh so slowly, Eggsy’s eyes fluttering shut, lips pursing, his finger nails digging blissfully into Harry’s back- he loved that Eggsy would be leaving his mark on him. And then his whole body began to relax beneath him, and Harry continued to move, slowly, slowly, slowly. The breath rushed out of Eggsy, brow creased in pleasure, swollen lips parted, and Harry couldn’t help but kiss those lips, kiss down his exposed throat, damp with sweat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“ _Fuck_ ing…” Eggsy began._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Aright?” Harry said into exposed skin beneath his jawline._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Y-yeh,” he replied, hips jutting instinctively for more. His breath hitched with the sudden pain of it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Easy,” Harry admonished gently. “Stay put and let me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eggsy gave a low hum of appreciation. “Yes, sir.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Unbelievable. “Cheeky fucker.” Harry’s hips gave an involuntarily enthusiastic thrust in response, Eggsy catching a whine in his throat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Fuck,” he said, voice thick with pleasure. Harry tried to keep his pace painfully slow till it felt like it might kill him, but god it was delicious. And he knew that he’d found the right angle when Eggsy gave out an ‘ah!’, head rolling back into the pillow, legs wrapping tighter around his waist._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“That’s it,” he heard himself say, letting the pace quicken at last, and God he knew he’d never forget the image of Eggsy’s face in this moment, brows knitted together, biting his lip._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Fuck, I’m-” Eggsy gasped._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The rhythm had built up speed but Harry wasn’t sure when. He felt, saw Eggsy come, silently crying out, and watching him come undone was enough to bring Harry to climax too. They lay side by side, catching their breath, heads rolling to look at each other at the same time. A melting, sleepy smile spread across Eggsy’s face, and even after everything today, that bright mischief still in his eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“That’s our professional relationship fucked, then, isn’t it?” he said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“It would seem so.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eggsy’s arms flopped back onto the pillow, stretched out above his head. His forehead was shiny with a sweat, his chest rising and falling more steadily now. Staring up at the ceiling, Harry watched him thinking, fighting for the right words to say something. And then he turned to look at him again, all vulnerability, hope, and softness._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’m falling in love with you,” he said, like it was a confession to a sin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry breathed steadily, deeply, but was unable to mask the shakiness that came with it. “You needn’t sound so bloody depressed about it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Harry, I’m bein’ serious!” Eggsy retorted, not without humour. He hid his eyes behind the crook of one elbow. “I’m your student, this ain’t right.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry sighed, coming to a decision at last. No more ambivalence. “Fuck it. Fuck it all, Eggsy. I just can’t find it in myself to care about that sort of bollocks anymore.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________An eye peeked out from behind his arm. “Really?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Really,” Harry said, rolling towards him slightly to plant a kiss on top of the boy’s head. “And it’s probably worth me mentioning that I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yeah. That’s helpful information.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They spent an indefinable amount of time just lying side by side. It could have been hours, or minutes, neither man knew. All Harry knew was that he loved the man draped over his arm, twisting a lock or hair around his index finger. All Eggsy knew was that he wanted a future with the man looking down at him with dark, warm eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry’s gaze drifted down to Eggsy’s naked collar bone. He stroked the scar that began at the top of his shoulder, down to his upper back. It was white, striped in the places where the stitches had healed his skin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Dare I ask?” Harry posed. A brief moment of anxiety twitched across Eggsy’s face. Harry continued to stroke the scare carefully._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Stepdad.” The man avoided eye contact. He looked down at the bed-sheets. “Didn’t see eye to eye.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry had wondered, hoped that this wouldn’t be the case. “Ah,” he said simply._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I came home one day, found him…” Eggsy stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again. “Anyway. I didn’t like how he treated my mum. I dragged her out of there, and he stabbed me from behind. I was walking round the street with a fuckin’ cleaver in my shoulder.” He laughed quietly, as if it were some comedy sketch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It took effort to quash the anger that rose within him. “He sounds like an absolute tosser.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eggsy laughed properly this time, making a surprised snorting sound. “Yeh. Proper wanker.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Harry made a hum of agreement, laying a kiss on the beginnings of the scar. He closed his eyes, staying where he was, face buried in the man’s collar-bone. He didn’t want Eggsy seeing his face when he admitted what came next._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Fathers- step, or biological- are not always the most sympathetic.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He could practically hear the penny drop, before Eggsy’s arm wrapped itself around Harry’s waist._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Nah. They ain’t.” His lips pressed against Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry… whatever he did.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Ah, it was a long time ago, now.” And yet, sometimes he still dreamed about empty whiskey bottles, shattered glass on the floor. The purple bruises that would blossom across his cheek bone after his father gained suspicions that Harry wasn’t going to marry a nice, buxom, English girl._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Stays with you,” Eggsy said, as if he were reading his mind. They squeezed each other closer. “We’re together now.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Eggsy said it as if it were a happy end to a fairy tale. Harry found he couldn’t argue._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down

Eggsy had left Harry's house practically bouncing. He’d kissed him on the porch step, standing on his tip-toes to reach Harry’s lips. Harry had never felt so giddy in his life.

Harry had gone to the School after Eggsy, hoping the gap between their arrivals erased any suspicion. But the good mood he’d brought with him evaporated almost as soon as he walked into the studio. It was almost entirely empty- none of the candidates were there, including Eggsy- only Merlin and Arthur were present, who appeared to be staring each other down. Merlin’s face was twisted in anger, when he noticed Harry step in hesitantly. 

“Good morning, Harry,” Arthur said politely, turning his back on Merlin and making his way to him. Harry instinctively stopped where he was. As gentlemanly as he was, when it came to men like Arthur, he showed no respect no matter how hard he tried.

“Arthur,” he said grimly, eyes flicking to Merlin’s. 

“He’s sent Eggsy home, Harry,” he announced, striding past Arthur and thrusting his clipboard into his hands. Harry didn’t even look at it- he recognised the rejection letter instantly. 

“Why,” he asked simply, looking to Arthur for a challenge.

“Harry, you and I both know he’s not Royal Ballet material,” he said patiently, as if he were explaining to an impudent child why he couldn’t have an ice cream. “I had hoped you would choose someone a little more appropriate.”

There was no remorse in his face, only pride and disdain, and the anger rose like a bubbling, overflowing to boiling point. “I see,” he said calmly.

“It was our job to choose the talent,” Merlin argued, standing between the two of them. Arthur didn’t even look at him, his eyes remaining trained on Harry’s. “We recruit, you review the candidates _with_ us- the board doesn’t have the power to-”

“I wasn’t about to let a _yob_ like him become the next face of the Royal Ballet,” Arthur growled.

“So talent means nothing to you.” Harry spoke acerbically, simply, the fury spitting in the pit of his stomach. 

“Charlie Heskith is-”

“Charlie Heskith is as uninspiring as a dead fish!” Merlin argued. 

Harry seemed to leave them room, his mind drowning out Merlin and Arthur’s bickering, drifting to the scene of Eggsy receiving the news in this very studio- Arthur had got there before him to tell them all, and Merlin could say nothing as he watched the man’s face fall, that hurt defiance flooding back into his features. Harry’s heart twisted as he imagined him walking home with his kit, ignoring Charlie’s sneers and wishing Roxy good luck. No doubt he would think his career was over. And when Swan Lake rolled around, he would see Charlie Heskith’s face on the posters across London. 

“I can’t allow this,” he announced, turning to leave.

“I don’t see what you can do about it,” Arthur said to his turned back.

“Harry- wait-” Merlin ran to catch up with him, throwing the clip board onto a nearby table. “Harry, what are you thinking?”

The two men hopped down the steps into Covent Garden, Harry instinctively making his way to Alexandra Road- though he had no idea how he’d find Eggsy’s flat, having never been before. “I’m thinking I find Eggsy and talk to him. Have you done your research?”

“I have indeed,” Merlin said. “In fact, I have it all backed up and ready to use for whatever nefarious purposes necessary.”

“Good. We’re going to need it to threaten Arthur’s career.”

“Excellent,” he replied mirthlessly. 

Arthur had had his time here. His rule was over. He wasn’t going to stand in the way of Eggsy’s career- not whilst Harry was around. They were going to send that fucker packing. After winding through Holborn’s busy crowds, they found Alexandra Road. Harry ignored the stares they were receiving; no doubt two men in suits was an unusual sight here. They slowed down, looking up at the seemingly endless rows of concrete flats. 

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“No,” Harry said simply. Making a decision to walk along the long concrete build, Harry started marching down the road, along the double yellow lines and kids on their bikes. 

“What do you plan to say when you seen him, Harry?” Merlin began, keeping to Harry’s fast pace. “’Hello darling, sorry you were sent home for not being posh enough- please come back?’”

“Something alone those lines,” Harry agreed. “He is rather stubborn, however, so I may need your help.”

“He’s _your_ boyfriend. There’s nothing I can say that will change his mind.”

“So why are you here, then?” Harry knew Merlin cared for Eggsy immensely. Merlin huffed defiantly. 

“Yes, fine. He’s a good man and a good dancer. Sue me for wanting to see him on stage over Charlie fucking Heskith.” 

“That is true. Morning,” Harry said, nodding in acknowledgement to a group of young men, who were staring at them with mouths agape. “Although I don’t know what brought you to the conclusion that he’s my boyfriend.”

Merlin laughed sarcastically. “As if I wouldn’t notice you dancing around each other these past few weeks.”

“Well, it may surprise you to know that it’s actually a fairly recent development- yesterday, in fact.” Were those the two men Eggsy was with in Holborn that first day? Harry quickened his pace. 

“I don’t need to know anymore,” Merlin complained. “I really don’t want to know. Let’s just bring him home, shall we?”

“Jamal and Ryan, isn’t it?” Harry extended his hand to the two men, who had been leaning against a wall talking and were now standing up straight, alert and suspicious. 

“Yeh, you that ballet bloke?” one of them asked.

“I am,” he agreed. “This is my colleague, Merlin- we’re looking for Eggsy.”

The two boys shared an anxious glance. “What’s he gone done now?” the other man said. 

“Nothing- this time. We need to talk to him.”

“Aight… Jamal, you wait ‘here and I’ll-”

“Fuck that, I’m coming too- I wanna know what this is ‘bout,” Jamal argued, joining Ryan’s side as they led them up the nearest flight of stairs to the first floor of flats. 

“He’s been moody all day, won’t tell us why,” Ryan explained, looking over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t even come out. Somethin’s wrong, though.”

“We’re here to try and solve that,” Merlin explained as Harry marched ahead, everyone struggling to keep up with him without jogging. He needed to see him. Needed to tell him it was going to be OK. 

“’Ere,” Jamal announced, knocking on the door. Merlin and Harry exchanged a glance. A woman opened the door, confusion registering on her face as she looked from Jamal to Ryan, then to the two out of place strangers next to them.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking at Ryan wearily. “You in trouble?” 

“No, no Mrs. Unwin, these men are from-”

“They’re from the Royal Ballet!” Jamal interrupted enthusiastically, Ryan rolling his eyes. 

“Good morning,” Harry greeted the baffled looking woman, shaking her hand, Merlin following suit. “You must be Michelle. I’m here to speak to Eggsy.”

“He’s in the living room- he’s devastated, though, an’ he won’t tell me why- this got something to do with you?” she said, not without accusation. 

“Our colleague,” Merlin corrected. 

“We’re here to make things right,” Harry agreed, curbing his haste and patiently following Michelle into the living room. 

Eggsy was bouncing a baby on his knee, BBC news playing quietly in the background. The baby- Daisy, if he remembered rightly- noticed them first, stretching her arms out for her mother. Eggsy looked up, a mixture of emotions dancing across his face when his eyes settled on Harry. Relief. Pain. Anger.

“Eggsy,” Harry began. 

“So you got the news, then,” Eggsy said resignedly, looking down at the baby on his knee, bouncing her up and down again.

“This isn’t the end, Eggsy,” he began. “Arthur cannot send you home like this- he doesn’t have the power to.”

“Well, he won’t be the first to try and do this sort of thing, yeh?” he said. The five of them- Michelle, Jamal, Ryan, Merlin, and Harry- stood in the living room doorway, looking at him from his position on the sofa. 

“Arthur doesn’t have the authority to do this, Eggsy,” Merlin explained. “You are by far the best choice for the role-”

“There’s no point in me arguing with someone like him, though, is there?” he argued, standing up now with Daisy in his arms. “This is jus’ goin’ to keep happening.”

“So you’re just going to give up?” Harry snapped. 

Anger tightened Eggsy’s face, though he kept his voice down for the child’s sake. “You know full fuckin’ well that ain’t what this is.”

“Then come back with us. We’re going to give Arthur what he deserves.”

“We have evidence that he’s been accepting bribes from Charlie Heskith’s father,” Merlin explained. “We reckon we can use it against him- finally have him removed from the Royal Ballet before he causes any more damage.”

“This ain’t even about me,” Eggsy argued, bouncing Daisy in his arms, who giggled away happily as they argued. “You know this is jus’ gonna keep happening-”

“This is about choosing the right candidate for the role,” Harry said. “So get a grip, Eggsy, and come back with us.” Merlin sighed at his usual poor choice of words.

“Harry, for fuck’s sake, no need to be a dick about it, yeh?” Eggsy said, stepping closer to the small gang gathered in the doorway. “You don’t get it-”

“Eggsy!” Ryan shouted, seeing the way it made Daisy jump and adjusting his volume before he spoke again. “Eggsy! Fuckin’ hell, listen to him, he’s right! You need to get a fuckin’ grip, don’t turn this down just because it’s gonna be hard, you silly ponce!”

“He’s right, darlin’,” Michelle said softly, Jamal nodding at Harry’s side. 

Eggsy looked at all of them in amazement. “Fukcin’ hell, you’re all critics now, ain’t you?”

“You’d be a twat not to go back, Eggsy,” Jamal said. “If they say they can get this arsehole sacked, then there’s nothing stoppin’ you, yeh?”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want to,” he complained, looking at Merlin, then settling his gaze on Harry’s. The man seemed so confused. He’d been through enough this week, and all Harry wanted to do was reach out and kiss him. “This… it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. But even with Arthur gone, it’s always goin’ to be the same, innit? There’s always goin’ to be some twat who wants me gone.”

“We’ll make sure this sort of thing doesn’t happen again,” Harry said. There was that suspicion in Eggsy’s eyes again, mixed with so much sadness for having his future dangled in front of him, taken away, teased before him again- only for Arthur to send him home. Harry took a deep breath. “I won’t allow anyone to get in your way, Eggsy. You’re the best dancer I’ve ever had the pleasure to teach. You’re going to do great things- and I’m going to make sure you reach the top.” 

Forgetting the audience he had, who had fallen reverently silent, he took Eggsy’s free hand in both of his. He looked at him with soft eyes, and Harry could see that he wanted to argue, that a voice in his head was telling him to ignore him, not to trust. They held each other’s gaze. 

“You’re going to be wonderful,” Harry said simply. 

The looked at each other, silence ensuing, before Jamal interrupted. “You two goin’ out, or somethin’?” 

Merlin snorted. Eggsy snapped out of the reverie, wincing at the sudden realisation of their tender moment being shared with the entire room. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Jamal-”

“You never told me you had a boyfriend!” Michelle teased. Everyone turned to look at Harry. “Ain’t you a bit old for my Eggsy?”

“Jesus- here, take Daisy.” Eggsy gave Daisy to Merlin, who took her without a word, though he seemed rather surprised. “I’m goin’ to sort my shit out- then we’ll head over, yeh?”

“Don’t forget your phone, darlin’,” Michelle said, chasing after Eggsy as he pushed through the small crowd. Jamal, Ryan, and Merlin were left with Harry, all of them looking at him pointedly. 

“Quite the speech, Harry,” Merlin said, holding a very content Daisy, who was fiddling with his glasses. 

“Not now, Merlin.”

“So, what are your intentions with my mate, eh?” Ryan prompted, not without a dose of amusement. “You shag all the new young dancers?”

Merlin cackled mirthlessly, letting Daisy take his glasses off entirely. “Shameless, isn’t he?” he posed to Daisy, who looked at him in the quiet, childish awe.

Harry was determined to ignore the taunts, listening to Michelle and Eggsy bicker in the adjacent room. Jamal nudged Ryan playfully. “Always guessed Eggsy was into older men. Remember our old teacher, Mr… who was it…?”

“This ain’t just favouritism, is it?” Ryan continued. “Because if it is-”

“As a matter of fact, I love Eggsy very much. And…” The weight of his words suddenly hit him, and he fell silent, everyone in the room staring at him again. Even Daisy had gone quiet.

Just then Eggsy came in with his bag with a grin. “Come on, then- I thought we were in a rush?”

“We are,” Harry agreed, escaping the living room before anyone could say anything. Merlin passed Daisy to Michelle, gently prying his glasses out of her chubby hands. 

“Go give it to ‘em, Eggsy!” Michelle cheered. They left the flat, Harry blinking away the sunshine that was blinding him. It had been so grey before. 

“Let’s fuckin’ do this,” Eggsy announced.

 

Arthur took it about as well as could be expected. The three of them had marched into the theatre whilst Roxy and Charlie were practising. As soon as Roxy had seen Eggsy come in, she ripped herself off stage and pulled him into a tight hug. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for her to practise with a slimy fuck like Charlie. All the while, Arthur had done his best to assert his authority over the situation, despite having none. There was something about posh, entitled wankers like him who thought they were in charge purely because they were better off. Naturally, Merlin only needed to dangle a memory stick of incriminating emails before the man’s nose for him to realise the seriousness of the situation. When Arthur had asked rather shakily if Merlin was threatening him, he’d replied with an evil grin “Oh, absolutely”. Jesus, that man could have been a fucking James Bond villain in another life. 

That hadn’t even been the best bit. Neither was the moment when Charlie stropped off stage in his tights crying out that his “father would hear about this.” No- the best part had been when Arthur had been grasping at straws to fight back and called Harry a fucking poof, saying that he was going to ruin British ballet. In response to which, shrugging casually, looking dreamily into the distance, Harry had announced that maybe next year he’d put an adaptation of Le Papillon featuring both love interests as women. 

Needless to say, Arthur was horrified, Eggsy was delighted, Merlin was practically cackling with villainous delight, Roxy watched the whole scene play out with restrained joy- and Harry, well, Harry had been holding Eggsy’s hand tightly the whole time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woops, sorry to everyone who read this chapter already as i accidentally posted it to the end of chapter 9!
> 
> Thank you all for the amazing comments. seriously, your comments have been giving me life. 
> 
> It seems like you've all enjoyed this fic a lot, and that means so so much to me. If you guys would like an epilogue, I'd be more than happy to write one, with some positive reinforcement!
> 
> Thanks agian everyone, I hope all your Hartwin dreams come true <3

The studio is empty, save the sound of music. Eggsy dances to often to Swan Lake that sometimes, he decides he needs a change. So today, he’s dancing to Coldplay, O, to be precise. It’s a song he loves, it’s a song that makes him think of bringing up Daisy to be a happy and healthy little girl. It makes him think of bringing up Daisy with a new family of his own. Till now, that fantasy had always featured some faceless woman. Now, he sees Harry. 

He pirouettes, images of a family home in the London suburbs spinning round him- Daisy playing in the garden- mum drinking a cup of tea in the kitchen- Harry watching the scene with his arm around Eggsy’s waist.

He closes his eyes when he dances, hearing Harry come in. 

“Haven’t you got paperwork to do, or something?” he says, continuing to practice.

Harry huffed in amusement. “No. Would you rather I left you?”

“No.” 

Eggsy is practising Siegried’s solo in act one, and it’s hard. It’s hard to balance and stretch and maintain that amazing strength whilst appearing gentle and sympathetic. He hasn’t even met Odette yet but his heart is aching- his pirouette is desperate and sad, and he falls into arabesque, stretching out to someone he doesn’t know yet. But when Eggsy stretches out his arm to Harry, he can see him, in all his glory. He knows Harry is there with him, and it might be harder to practice this routine with Coldplay in the background rather than the original score, but it’s easy to perform with feeling when he can see Harry’s face. During practice, during those months when they first knew each other, he held back the joy his dancing brought him, but now Eggsy can see it plain and clear in the glint in this eye, the tilt of his head, the crease between his brow. 

Siegfried is weighed down with responsibilities, weighed down by the pressure to be someone he isn’t. He dances like he wants to be free. And God, Eggsy knows how to do that. He gently, oh so slowly, oh so painfully turns- because Jesus is it hard to pirouette slowly- trapped and desperate. When Eggsy completes his pirouette he sees Harry has stepped closer to him. The fantasy of them watching Daisy playing in the garden feels suddenly very possible.

Harry takes his hand, interrupts his routine. Because this is a solo, and he’s meant to be watching. But instead he takes Eggsy’s hand, kicks off his shoes, and guides him in a circle. Eggsy can see them in the reflection. They are beautiful.

Harry’s hands come to his waist and he’s being lifted. He’s never been lifted before- but Eggsy leans into it like he’s born to do it, arching his back slightly and extending his left leg and right arm as Harry twirls him around, bringing him back down again closer, chest to chest. He grabs onto Harry’s lapel, pulling him close, almost to kiss, and then pushes himself away. It’s like suddenly the two of them are dancing these past few months- taking the time they’ve had together and putting it into movements, into a choreography to describe the build up to what they have now. Eggsy curls away from him, Harry pursues him, face turned away- as if he can’t, shouldn’t look with love at this bitter, frightened thing that he’s found. That bitter frightened thing he found in Holborn park. 

Eggsy slowly stretches up, like he’s blossoming- because that’s what it felt like when he started to dance with Harry, realised he loved him. And when he turns to extend an arm to him, he sees Harry waiting for him, a hand ready to take his. So he pirouettes not to take his hand- but to fall into his embrace, suddenly, desperately, and Harry picks him up mid embrace, arms wrapped around his shoulders, Eggsy’s hands bunched at his chest. It’s not graceful, but it’s real, and he turns him, face buried in his hair, before he steps away from him, and Eggsy jetes and steps confidently around him. They don’t take their eyes off each other. 

Harry mimics Eggsy’s jete, and they’re performing a canon. Eggsy pirouettes- Harry pirouettes- Eggsy ciseauxs- Harry ciseauxs- Eggsy comes up behind Harry and twirls to face him face on, their hands come to meet each other, palm to palm, and they pace in a slow circle, looking at each other.

The music is coming to an end, and Harry comes to his knees- his suit trousers will be dirty, not that either man is thinking of this- and looks up at Eggsy reverently, who has finished on an arabesque. 

Harry has not taken his eyes off him. A warm rush of affection floods through Eggsy as he looks down at Harry, takes his hand, brings him back up to his feet. 

“That was unexpected.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said gently. “I couldn’t stop myself from interrupting.”

“You’re welcome to dance with me like that whenever you want,” Eggsy said, drawing closer so their noses touched. Harry looked down at him, eyes dark. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

“Now, now,” Harry chided, without much conviction, Eggsy thought. So he placed a chaste, soft kiss on his lips. Almost as a dare. They looked at each other even as they kissed, measuring who would give in first. 

“Come on,” Eggsy said. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it during our practice sessions.”

Harry hummed in thought, and it sent tingles down Eggsy’s spine. 

“Possibly,” he conceded. “But that’s not to say that it’s sensible.”

“Fuck sensible,” Eggsy said, lips brushing against Harrys as he spoke, eyes still fixed on Harry’s. 

The dark look in Harry’s eyes and the growing erection Eggsy’s thigh told him that he was thinking about it. But then he pushed him away gently and stepped away, toeing his shoes back on and brushing a hand through his hair to correct any strays. 

“I’m afraid not, Eggsy. I’d rather like to keep my job. Especially since I’ve just taken on Arthur’s position, too.”

Eggsy huffed in a way that he knew was dramatic. “Yeah. Right. Fine.”

“Unless, of course, you’d like to come back to mine.” He said it without looking back, sauntering out of the room. So confident that Eggsy would follow. The little fucker. 

Of course, that didn’t stop Eggsy from gathering up his things and running after him. 

 

After a particularly amazing afternoon of sex, Eggsy had decided to take advantage of Harry’s amazing bath. 

It was a roll-top bath, with gold taps and everything. The man lived in a house on a London Mews, so he shouldn’t have been surprised, but my god. His towels were Egyptian cotton and he had bath bubbles that smelled like heaven. When he’d invited Harry to join him, it had gone from the best bath in the world to the best day in the world. Ever. 

Harry lay behind him, absent-mindedly pouring water over Eggsy’s chest. 

“When I’m a proper famous dancer,” he began, “with my face plastered all over posters on the underground. Do you reckon I’ll be able to afford somewhere nice like this?” _Somewhere nice, in the suburbs, for us all to live?_ he thinks. 

“I should say so. So long as you save properly.”

“Don’t spend it all at once,” Eggsy said in a mock parental tone. He could practically hear Harry’s eyes roll.

“Although, I do rather hope that at some point, you might want to move in with me.” 

Eggsy tensed, almost jamming his toe up the tap that his foot had been poking at. 

“I- I mean, Harry, that-”

“Not now, Eggsy, calm down,” he said. “I did say ‘at some point’.”

Eggsy swallowed. “Yeah.” He fiddled with Harry’s fingers, which had been lying on his stomach. He laid his head back, so that it rested on Harry’s collar bone- the older man’s chin just at eye level. “Been thinking about it myself.”

“Mmm?” 

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “But I wouldn’t want to go anywhere without knowing mum and Daisy have somewhere.”

“Of course,” Harry said. “I imagined that they might move in too, temporarily, at least.”

Eggsy sat up again, the water sloshing dangerously. Twisting round to look at Harry, who remained in his relaxed supine position, Eggsy blinked at him. “Really?”

“Of course,” he repeated. “Besides, I can’t see your baby sister ever letting go of me.”

Eggsy laughed brightly. Daisy had completely fallen in love with Harry. He’d come over for dinner once or twice, and she’d fallen asleep on him both times. He’d taken a picture of both events. The latest one, he’d made his phone’s lock screen wallpaper.

“No way. No one in their right mind lets their boyfriend’s family move in with him. Especially when there’s a toddler and raspberry jam involved.”

Harry stroked back Eggsy’s hair with a wet, soapy hand. “At what point did I give you the impression that I’m in my right mind?”

The bubbles disappeared. The water cooled. Their toes pruned. It was a moment that Eggsy would ever forget.

 

Eggsy had been nervous for his debut performance, of course, but Harry knew all along that the audience would love him. They watched him in quiet awe, just as he once had when he discovered him in Holborn. And when they cheered for him, it was uproarious, glorious. The sound thundered through him. When Eggsy returned back to the stage for an encore, bowing with a grin on his face, roses flying past him and landing on the stage, Harry swore that he would never stop picking up those flowers for him. He wasn’t surprised to find a tear fall down his cheek as he wiped it away casually, Merlin gripping his arm with pride for their students. It was the first tear he’d shed in many, many years. 

Eggsy’s eyes found Harry’s as he stood hand in hand with Roxy on stage. Despite the glaring lights, despite the number of applauding fans, his eyes would always find Harry’s amongst the crowd.


End file.
